f  LIBRARY  *} 

I      UNIVERSITY  OF 
1          CALIFORNIA 

»     SAN  DIEGO       ! 


OF 


GIOVANNI  DUPRE 


THOUGHTS  ON  ART 


AND 


AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL    MEMOIRS 


OF 


GIOVANNI  (DUPRE 

C"T 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE   ITALIAN   BY 

E.    M.    PERUZZI 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY    W.    W.   STORY 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS 
1886 


Copyright,  1 8  86 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS 


INTRODUCTION  TO  NEW  EDITION, 


THIS  book  contains  the  record  of  the  life  and 
thoughts  upon  Art  of  Giovanni  Dupre,  one  of  the 
most  eminent  sculptors  of  the  present  century  in 
Italy.  It  was  written  by  him  from  time  to  time, 
during  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  in  the  intervals 
of  work  in  his  studio,  and  given  to  the  public 
about  three  years  before  his  death.  Those  three 
years,  of  which  it  contains  no  account,  were  assidu- 
ously devoted  to  his  art.  Every  day  had  its  work, 
and  it  was  done  faithfully  and  joyously  even  to 
the  last.  "  Nulla  dies  sine  lineal  Within  these 
years,  among  other  works  of  less  importance,  he 
successively  executed  a  basso-relievo  of  the  Bap- 
tism of  our  Lord,  a  portrait  statue  of  Pius  IX.  for 
the  Cathedral  of  Piacenza,  one  of  Victor  Emmanuel 
for  the  public  square  at  Trapani,  one  of  Raimondo 
Lullo  for  a  chapel  in  the  island  of  Majorca,  and 
one  of  St  Francis  of  Assisi  which  now  adorns 
the  front  of  the  Cathedral  at  Assisi.  This  was 
the  last  statue  which  he  ever  made.  The  model 

5 


INTRODUCTION   TO   NEW   EDITION.      . 

he  had  completed  in  clay  and  cast  in  plaster, 
and  had  somewhat  advanced  in  executing  it  in 
marble,  when  death  arrested  his  hand.  It  was  fin- 
ished by  his  daughter  Amalia,  who  had  for  years 
been  his  loving  and  faithful  pupil,  and  who  had 
already  won  distinction  for  herself  as  a  sculptor. 
In  this  his  last  work  he  found  a  peculiar  attractive- 
ness, and  his  heart  and  hand  were  earnestly  given 
to  it.  "I  am  most  happy,"  he  says  in  his  reply 
to  the  authorities  of  Assisi,  who  gave  him  this 
order,  "  that  the  Commission  has  thought  of  me, — 
not  so  much  on  account  of  what  little  talent  I  may 
possess,  as  for  the  love  I  bear  to  religious  art." 
The  statue  itself  is  very  simple,  and  informed  by 
a  deep  religious  sentiment.  It  is  clothed  in  the 
dress  of  the  order  which  St  Francis  founded,  the 
hands  crossed  over  the  breast,  the  cowl  falling  be- 
hind, the  head  bent,  and  the  eyes  cast  down  in  an 
attitude  of  submission  and  devotion. 

The  statue  had  not  only  deeply  interested  all 
his  feelings  and  sympathies,  but  in  its  treatment 
and  sentimen.t  he  seems  to  have  been  satisfied.  A 
singular  presentiment,  however,  came  over  him  as 
he  was  showing  it  to  a  friend  upon  its  completion. 
"  It  will  be  a  triumph  to  you  and  a  glory  to 
Assisi,"  said  his  friend.  "  Ah,"  he  answered,  "  who 
knows  that  it  may  not  be  the  last !  "  So  indeed  it 
proved.  But  a  few  days  after  this  conversation  he 
was  seized  by  an  attack  of  peritonitis.  From  this, 
however,  he  recovered,  as  well  as  from  a  second 
attack,  which  shortly  afterwards  followed.  As  he 

6 


INTRODUCTION   TO  NEW  EDITION. 

was  recovering  from  this  second  attack  he  wrote 
to  Monsignore  Andrea  Ulli :  "  The  doctor  has  no 
doubt  that  I  shall  get  well,  and  in  a  few  days  I 
hope  he  will  allow  me  to  return  to  my  studio. 
But  how  I  have  suffered ! — doubly  suffered  from 
having  been  deprived  of  the  occupation  that  most 
delights  me.  This  is  my  joy  and  my  life.  What 
a  happy  day  it  will  be  when  I  am  permitted  to  put 
my  foot  again  into  my  studio,  and  to  resume  my 
work  and  my  St  Francis." 

His  hopes,  however,  were  fated  to  be  disap- 
pointed. Although  he  sufficiently  recovered  to  go 
to  his  studio,  he  was  able  to  do  but  little  work  ; 
and  shortly  afterwards — on  the  ist  of  January — he 
was  again  prostrated  by  a  third  attack  of  the  same 
disease.  His  death,  he  felt,  was  now  certain  ;  but 
he  met  its  approach  with  the  courage,  resignation, 
and  piety  that  had  always  characterised  him,  look- 
ing forward  with  certainty  to  a  reunion  with  the 
dear  ones  who  had  gone  before  him — Luisina,  his 
daughter,  whose  loss  he  had  so  bitterly  felt,  and  his 
wife  Marina,  his  steadfast  help  and  loving  com- 
panion for  so  many  years,  who  had  died  seven 
years  previously.  One  regret  constantly  possessed 
him  during  these  last  days,  that  he  should  not  be 
able,  as  he  had  projected,  to  model  the  statue  of 
the  Madonna  for  the  Duomo  at  Florence,  upon 
which  he  had  set  his  heart.  One  day  when  he 
gave  expression  to  this  feeling,  his  daughter 
Amalia  sought  to  console  him  by  saying,  "  But 
you  have  already  made  her  statue,  and  it  is  so 

7 


INTRODUCTION   TO   NEW   EDITION. 

beautiful — the  addolorata  for  Santa  Croce."  "Ah  !  " 
he  answered,  "but  I  desired  to  model  her  as  Queen 
of  Florence."  This  apparently  was  the  only  desire 
that  haunted  him  during  his  last  attack.  In  re- 
gard to  all  other  things  he  was  resigned  ;  and  after 
lingering  in  almost  constant  pain  for  ten  days,  he 
expired  on  the  loth  of  January  1882,  at  the  age  of 
sixty-five. 

The  announcement  of  his  death  was  received 
everywhere  in  Italy  with  the  warmest  expressions 
of  sorrow.  It  was  felt  to  be  a  national  loss.  His 
life  had  been  so  pure,  so  conscientious,  and  so 
animated  by  high  purpose — his  temper  and  char- 
acter had  been  so  blameless  and  free  from  envy 
and  stain  of  any  kind — he  had  been  so  generous 
and  kindly  in  all  the  varied  relations  of  life,  as  a 
son,  as  a  husband,  as  a  father,  as  a  friend, — and  he 
had  so  greatly  distinguished  himself  as  a  sculptor, 
that  over  his  grave  the  carping  voice  of  criticism 
was  hushed,  and  a  universal  voice  of  praise  and 
sorrow  went  up  everywhere.  All  classes  united  to 
do  him  reverence,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest. 
Funeral  ceremonies  were  celebrated  in  his  honour, 
not  only  in  Florence,  where  a  great  procession 
accompanied  his  remains  to  the  church  where  the 
last  rites  were  performed,  but  also  in  Siena,  his 
birthplace,  in  Fiesole,  where  he  was  buried  in  the 
family  chapel,  and  in  Antella  and  Agnone.  The 
press  of  his  native  country  gave  expression  to  high 
eulogiums  on  him  as  an  artist  and  as  a  man. 
Public  honours  were  decreed  to  him.  In  front  of 

8 


INTRODUCTION   TO   NEW   EDITION. 

the  house  where  he  was  born  in  Siena,  the  mu- 
nicipality placed  this  inscription  :  "  This  humble 
abode,  in  which  was  born  Giovanni  Dupre,  honour 
of  Art  and  Italy,  may  teach  the  sons  of  the  people 
what  height  can  be  reached  by  the  force  of  genius 
and  will."  In  the  Parrocchial  Church  dell'  Onda  (in 
Siena)  was  placed  a  bust  of  the  artist  executed  by 
his  daughter  Amalia ;  and  in  Florence,  over  the 
house  where  he  had  passed  a  large  portion  of  his 
life,  a  tablet  is  inserted,  on  which  is  inscribed  these 
words  :  "  The  Municipality  of  Florence,  in  whose 
council  sat  Giovanni  Dupre,  has  placed  this  memo- 
rial on  the  house  where  for  twenty  years  lived  the 
great  sculptor,  glory  of  Italy  and  of  Art,  and  in 
which  he  died  on  the  loth  day  of  1882." 

During  his  life  honours  had  been  showered  upon 
him  at  home  and  abroad — honours  well  deserved 
and  meekly  borne,  without  vanity  or  pretension. 
He  had  been  made  a  knight  and  counsellor  of 
the  Civil  Order  of  Savoy,  a  member  of  the  Insti- 
tute of  France,  a  knight  of  the  Tuscan  Order  of 
Merit  and  of  the  Legion  of  Honour  in  France,  an 
officer  of  the  Brazilian  Order  of  the  Rose,  a  com- 
mander of  the  Order  of  the  Corona  d'ltalia,  Mexico 
and  Guadaloupe,  an  associate  of  the  Academy  of 
St  Luke,  and  of  various  other  academies  in  Italy 
and  elsewhere.  The  Municipal  Council  of  Siena 
also  commissioned  his  friend  and  pupil,  Tito  Sar- 
rocchi,  to  execute  for  it  a  bust  of  his  master  in 
marble  during  his  lifetime,  on  which  was  this  in- 
scription :  "  To  Giovanni  Dupre  of  Siena,  who  to 

9 


INTRODUCTION   TO   NEW   EDITION. 

the  glories  of  Italian  Art  has  added,  by  the  won- 
ders of  his  chisel,  new  and  immortal  glories.  The 
city  of  Siena — xii.  July  1867." 

His  life  was  a  busy  and  an  earnest  one.  During 
his  forty  years  of  patient  labour  he  executed 
about  a  hundred  works  in  the  round  and  in  relief, 
including  a  considerable  number  of  busts  and 
statuettes.  Of  these,  perhaps  the  most  important 
are:  The  statues  of  Cain  and  Abel,  the  original 
bronzes  of  which  are  in  the  Pitti  Palace  in  Flor- 
ence, and  by  which  he  leaped  at  once  to  fame  as  a 
sculptor ;  the  group  of  the  Pieta  in  the  cemetery  of 
Siena  ;  the  large  bas-relief  of  the  Triumph  of  the 
Cross  on  the  facade  of  the  Church  of  Santa  Croce  in 
Florence  ;  the  monument  to  Cavour  at  Milan  ;  the 
Ferrari  monument  in  San  Lorenzo,  with  the  angel 
of  the  resurrection  ;  the  Sappho  ;  the  pedestal  for 
the  colossal  Egyptian  Tazza,  with  its  alto-reliefs, 
representing  Thebes,  Imperial  Rome,  Papal  Rome, 
and  Tuscany,  each  with  its  accompanying  genius  ; 
the  portrait  statue  of  Giotto  ;  the  ideal  statue  of  St 
Francis  ;  and  the  Risen  Christ. 

The  Tazza,  the  Pieta,  the  Triumph  of  the  Cross, 
and  the  Risen  Christ,  were  selected  by  him  out  of 
all  his  works  to  send  to  the  French  Exposition  of 
1867,  and  it  may  therefore  be  supposed  that  he 
considered  them  as  the  best  representatives  of  his 
genius  and  power.  Indeed,  in  a  letter  to  Pro- 
fessor Pietro  Dotto  (1866)  he  mentions  particularly 
these  last  three  as  the  statues  which  in  concep- 
tion he  considers  to  be  the  most  worthy  of  praise 


INTRODUCTION   TO   NEW   EDITION. 

of  all  his  works.  This  selection  also  indicates 
the  religious  character  of  his  mind  and  his  works. 
At  this  Exposition  he  was  one  of  the  jury  on  Sculp- 
ture, and  though  he  gave  his  own  vote  in  favour 
of  the  eminent  sculptor  Signor  Vela  of  Milan,  who 
exhibited  on  that  occasion  his  celebrated  statue  of 
the  Last  Hours  of  Napoleon  L,  to  his  surprise  the 
grand  medal  of  honour  was  awarded  to  himself. 
He  had  scarcely  dared  to  hope  for  this ;  and  in  his 
letters  to  his  family  he  wrote  that  he  considered 
it  certain  that  the  distinction  would  be  conferred 
upon  Signor  Vela.  When  the  award  was  made 
to  him,  he  wrote  a  most  characteristic  letter  to  his 
daughter,  announcing  the  result.  "  Mia  cara  Bep- 
pina,"  he  says,  "  I  have  just  returned  from  the 
sitting  of  the  jury,  and  hasten  at  once  to  answer 
your  dear  letter.  It  is  true  that  the  Napoleon  I. 
of  Vela  is  a  beautiful  statue.  There  is  always  a 
crowd  about  it,  and  consequently  every  one  thought 
it  would  receive  the  first  prize.  I  have  given  him 
my  vote ;  but  the  public  and  I  and  you,  Beppina, 
were  wrong.  The  first  prize  has  come  to  me,  your 
father  !  Vela  received  two  votes  with  mine.  You 
see,  my  dear,  how  the  Holy  Virgin  has  answered 
your  and  our  prayer.  Let  us  seek  to  render  our- 
selves worthy  of  her  powerful  protection." 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  his  life,  as  has  already 
been  said,  that  he  wrote  his  '  Biographical  Reminis- 
cences and  Thoughts  upon  Art,'  of  which  the  present 
book  is  a  translation.  It  was  at  once  received  by 
the  Italian  public  with  great  favour,  and  is  by  no 


INTRODUCTION   TO   NEW   EDITION. 

means  the  least  remarkable  of  his  works.  It  would 
be  difficult  for  any  autobiography  to  be  more  simple, 
honest,  frank,  and  fearless.  The  whole  character 
of  the  man  is  in  it.  It  is  an  unaffected  and  un- 
pretending record  of  his  life  and  thoughts.  He 
has  no  concealment  to  make,  no  glosses  to  put 
upon  the  real  facts.  He  speaks  to  the  public  as  if 
he  were  talking  to  a  friend,  never  posing  for  effect, 
never  boasting  of  his  successes,  never  exaggerating 
his  powers,  never  assailing  his  enemies  and  detrac- 
tors, never  depreciating  his  fellow-artists,  but  ever 
striving  to  be  generous  and  just  to  all.  There  is 
no  bitterness,  no  envy,  no  arrogance  to  deform  a 
single  page ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  simplicity,  a 
naiveti,  a  sincerity  of  utterance,  which  are  remark- 
able. The  history  of  his  early  struggles  and  pov- 
erty, the  pictures  of  his  childhood  and  youth,  are 
eminently  interesting ;  and  the  story  of  his  love, 
courtship,  and  early  married  life  is  a  pure  Italian 
idyl  of  the  middle  class  of  society  in  Florence, 
which  could  scarcely  be  surpassed  for  its  truth  to 
nature  and  its  rare  delicacy  and  gentleness  of  feel- 
ing. If  the  '  Thoughts  upon  Art '  do  not  exhibit 
any  great  profundity  of  thinking,  they  are  earnest, 
instructive,  and  characteristic.  His  descriptions 
of  his  travels  in  France  and  England ;  his  criti- 
cisms and  anecdotes  of  artists  and  persons  in 
Florence  ;  his  account  of  his  daily  life  in  his 
studio  and  at  his  home, — are  lively  and  amusing. 
Altogether,  the  book  has  a  special  charm  which  it 
is  not  easy  to  define.  In  reading  it,  we  feel  that  we 


INTRODUCTION   TO    NEW   EDITION. 

are  in  the  presence  and  taken  into  the  confidence 
of  a  person  of  great  simplicity  and  purity  of  char- 
acter, of  admirable  instincts  and  perceptions,  of 
true  kindness  of  heart,  and  of  a  certain  childlike 
naivete  of  feeling  and  expression,  which  is  scarcely 
to  be  found  out  of  Italy. 

In  respect  of  style,  this  autobiography  resembles 
more  the  spoken  than  the  written  literary  language 
of  Italy.  It  is  free,  natural,  unstudied,  and  often 
careless.  But  its  very  carelessness  has  a  charm. 
Dupre  was  not  a  scholar  nor  a  literary  man.  He 
was  not  bound  by  the  rigid  forms  of  what  is  called 
in  Italy  "lo  stile"  which  but  too  often  is  the  enemy 
of  natural  utterance.  Undoubtedly  this  book  needs 
compression  ;  but  no  exactness  of  style  and  form 
could  compensate  for  the  absence  of  that  unstudied 
natural  ease  and  familiarity  which  are  among  its 
greatest  charms.  The  writer,  fortunately  for  the 
reader,  is  as  unconscious  of  elaborated  style  as 
Monsieur  Jourdain  was  that  he  was  talking  prose. 
The  character  of  Dupre's  writing  has  been  admir- 
ably caught  and  reproduced  by  Madame  Peruzzi, 
in  the  translation  to  which  these  few  words  may 
serve  as  preface. 

As  an  artist,  Dupre  was  not  endowed  with  a 
great  creative  or  imaginative  power.  His  spirit 
never  broke  out  of  the  Roman  Church  in  which  he 
was  brought  up,  and  all  that  he  did  and  thought 
was  coloured  by  its  influence.  The  subjects  which 
he  chose  in  preference  to  all  others  were  of  a  re- 
ligious character,  and  his  works  are  animated  by  a 

13 


INTRODUCTION   TO   NEW   EDITION. 

spirit  of  humility  and  devotion,  rather  than  of 
power  and  intensity.  His  piety — and  he  was  a 
truly  pious  man — narrowed  the  field  of  his  im- 
agination, and  restricted  the  flights  of  his  genius. 
"  But  even  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side,"  and 
what  he  lacked  in  breadth  of  conception,  was  com- 
pensated by  his  deep  sincerity  of  purpose  and  re- 
ligious feeling.  He  was  not  a  daring  creator — not 
an  originator  of  ideas — not  a  bold  discoverer.  He 
hugged  the  shore  of  his  Church.  He  wanted  the 
passion  and  overplus  of  nature  that  might  have 
borne  him  to  new  heights,  and  new  continents  of 
thought  and  feeling.  His  Cain,  almost  alone  of  all 
his  works,  breathes  a  spirit  of  defiance  and  rebellion, 
and  breaks  through  the  limitations  of  his  usual 
conceptions.  But  it  was  not  in  harmony  with  his 
genius  ;  and  in  natural  expression  it  falls  so  far 
below  his  previous  statue  of  Abel,  that  it  was 
epigrammatically  said  that  his  Abel  killed  his 
Cain.  There  was  undoubtedly  a  certain  truth  in 
this  criticism,  for  though  the  Cain  is  vigorously 
conceived  and  admirably  executed,  the  heart  of 
the  man  was  not  in  it,  as  it  was  in  the  gentle  and 
placid  figure  of  Abel.  In  mastery  of  modelling 
and  truth  to  nature,  this  latter  statue  could  scarce- 
ly be  surpassed.  Indeed,  so  remarkable  was  it 
for  these  qualities,  that  it  gave  rise  in  Florence 
to  the  scandalous  calumny  that  it  had  been  cast, 
not  modelled,  from  nature, — a  calumny  which,  it  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  add,  was  as  false  in  fact  as 
it  was  inconsistent  with  the  honest  and  lofty  spirit 

14 


INTRODUCTION   TO   NEW   EDITION. 

of  Dupre ;  and  which,  though  intended  as  a  re- 
proach, proved  to  be  the  highest  testimonial  to 
the  extraordinary  skill  of  the  artist. 

Within  the  bounded  domain  of  thought  and  con- 
ception which  his  religious  faith  had  set  for  him, 
he  worked  with  great  earnestness  and  devotion  of 
spirit.  Though  he  created  no  works  which  are 
stamped  by  the  audacity  of  genius,  or  intensified 
by  passion,  or  characterised  by  bold  originality 
and  reach  of  power,  yet  the  work  he  did  do  is 
eminently  faithful,  admirably  executed,,  and  in- 
formed by  knowledge  as  well  as  feeling.  His 
artistic  honesty  cannot  be  too  highly  praised. 
He  spared  no  pains  to  make  his  work  as  perfect  as 
his  powers  would  permit.  He  had  an  accurate  eye, 
a  remarkable  talent  for  modelling  from  nature,  and 
an  indefatigable  perseverance.  He  never  lent  his 
hand  to  low,  paltry,  and  unworthy  work.  Art  and 
religion  went  hand  in  hand  in  all  he  did.  He 
sought  for  the  beautiful  and  the  noble — sought  it 
everywhere  with  an  inquiring  and  susceptible  spirit; 
despised  the  brutal,  the  low,  and  the  trifling ; 
never  truckled  to  popularity,  or  sought  for  fame 
unworthily;  and  scorned  to  degrade  his  art  by  sen- 
suality. As  the  man  was,  so  his  work  was — pure, 
refined,  faithful  to  nature  and  to  his  own  nature. 
He  pandered  to  no  low  passions ;  he  modelled  no 
form,  he  drew  no  line,  that  dying  he  could  wish  to 
blot ;  and  the  world  of  Art  is  better  that  he  has 
lived.  While  he  bent  his  head  to  Nature,  the  whole 
stress  of  his  life  as  an  artist  was  to  realise  his  fa- 

15 


INTRODUCTION   TO   NEW   EDITION. 

vourite  motto,  "//  vero  net  bello" — the  true  in  the 
beautiful. 

His  last  letter,  written  only  three  days  before 
his  final  attack,  was  addressed  to  his  friend  Pro- 
fessor Giambattista  Giuliani,  and  as  it  breathes 
the  whole  spirit  of  the  man,  it  may  form  a  fit 
conclusion  to  these  few  words :  "  My  excellent 
friend, — We  also,  Amalia  and  I,  wish  you  truly 
from  our  hearts,  now  and  always,  every  good  from 
our  blessed  God — perfect  health,  elevation  of  spirit, 
serene  affections,  peace  of  heart  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  beautiful  and  the  good,  and  the  im- 
mortal hope  of  a  future  life,  that  supreme  good 
that  the  modern  Sadducees  deny  —  unhappy 
beings ! " 

W.  W.  STORY. 


16 


PREFACE. 


"  Do  you  know,"  I  said  to  a  friend  six  months  ago, 
while  I  was  looking  over  the  rough  draft  of  my 
memoirs,  "  that  I  have  decided  to  print  them  ? " 
"  You  will  do  well,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  you  must 
write  a  preface — a  bit  of  a  preface  is  necessary." 
"  I  do  not  think  so,"  I  said.  "  In  my  opinion 
the  few  words  on  the  first  page  will  suffice."  My 
friend  read  over  the  first  page  and  replied,  "  That's 
enough." 

Now,  however,  a  couple  of  words  do  not  seem  to 
me  superfluous, — first,  in  order  that  I  may  express 
my  surprise  and  pleasure  that  my  book,  written 
just  as  it  came  to  me,  has  been  received  with  so 
much  kindness ;  and  then  to  explain  that  this 
second  edition  has  been  enlarged  by  some  addi- 
tions and  necessary  notes.  The  additions  do  not 
form  an  appendix,  but  are  inserted  in  the  chapters, 
each  in  its  proper  place. 

It  did  not  seem  advisable  to  me,  as  it  did  to 
some  other  persons,  to  enlarge  this  book  by  letters, 


VI  PREFACE. 

documents,  and  other  writings  of  mine.  I  thought 
this  would  interfere  with  the  simplicity  and  brevity 
of  my  first  plan. 

In  re-reading  this  book,  I  admit  that  I  have 
found  passages  here  and  there  which  I  felt  tempted 
to  correct,  or  rather  to  polish  and  improve  in  style, 
but  I  have  let  them  go.  Who  knows  that  I  should 
not  have  made  them  worse  ?  It  seems  to  me 
(perhaps  I  am  wrong)  not  to  perceive  in  good 
writers  the  labour,  the  smoothing,  and  the  trans- 
position of  words,  and  so  on,  but  a  rapid  and  broad 
embodiment  of  the  idea  in  the  words  that  were 
born  with  it. 

One  last  and  most  essential  word  I  have  reserved 
for  the  end  as  a  bonne  bouche.  Some  persons 
have  excusably  and  pleasantly  observed  that  to 
write  a  book  about  one's  self  while  the  author  is 
living  is  both  very  difficult  and  rather  immodest. 
I  replied  to  them,  both  by  word  of  mouth  and 
through  the  press,  that  although  on  account  of  my 
life  and  works  I  had  studied  to  be  as  temperate 
and  unpretentious  as  the  truth  and  the  facts  would 
allow,  still  here  and  there  my  narrative  with  regard 
to  some  persons  might  not  be  agreeable,  and  there- 
fore after  my  death  it  might  be  discredited  or 
denied.  No,  this  must  not  be,  I  said,  and  say 
again.  I  am  alive,  and  am  here  to  correct  every- 
thing at  variance  with  the  truth,  and  also  (I  wish 
to  be  just)  what  is  wanting  in  chivalrousness. 


NOTE    BY    TRANSLATOR. 


IN  making  the  present  translation  of  the  Memoirs 
of  Giovanni  Dupre,  one  of  two  courses  had  to  be 
taken — either  to  turn  the  whole  into  pure  idio- 
matic English,  or  to  follow,  with  a  certain  degree 
of  literalness,  the  peculiar  forms  of  expression,  and 
the  characteristic  style,  or  absence  of  style,  of  the 
original.  I  have  chosen  the  latter  course,  in  order, 
as  far  as  in  me  lay,  to  convey  the  individuality  of 
the  author,  and  the  local  colour  and  character  of 
his  book.  This  would  to  a  great  degree  have  been 
lost  had  I  attempted  to  render  into  purely  English 
idiom  a  work  that  is  not  only  written  in  a  careless, 
familiar,  and  conversational  form,  and  abounds  in 
turns  of  expression  which  are  essentially  Floren- 
tine, but  derives  its  interest,  in  part  at  least,  from 
this  very  peculiarity. 

E.  M.  P. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PAGE 

My  motive  for  writing  these  Memoirs — My  father's  family — Re- 
moval of  the  family  to  Florence — My  childhood — My  father 
takes  me  to  Pistoia,  but  I  run  away  from  his  house  to  return 
to  my  mother — From  Pistoia  I  go  with  my  father  to  Prato — 
My  first  study  in  drawing — Strong  impression  made  upon  me 
by  an  old  print — My  father's  opposition  to  my  studies— My 
sorrow  at  being  so  far  from  my  mother — I  run  the  risk  of 
being  burnt— Having  grown  tall,  fears  are  entertained  for  my 
health — I  return  to  my  mother  at  Florence  and  work  with 
Ammanati — I  go  to  Siena  and  study  ornate  design  in  the 
Academy — Carlo  Pini  gives  me  lessons  in  drawing  the  human 
figure — Signor  Angelo  Barbetti's  prophecy — I  run  away  from 
Siena,  and  on  foot  go  to  my  mother  at  Florence — Signor 
Paolo  Sani— Death  of  my  sister  Clementina— My  mother's 
infirmity  of  eyesight — My  brother  Lorenzo  goes  to  the  poor- 
house — My  aversion  to  learn  reading  and  writing— My  first 
library,  and  inexperience  of  books i 


CHAPTER  II. 

Without  knowing  it,  I  was  doing  what  Leonardo  advises — New 
way  of  decorating  the  walls  of  one's  house— I  wish  to  study 
design  at  the  Academy,  but  cannot  carry  this  into  effect — A 
bottle  of  anise-seed  cordial — Intelligent  people  are  benevolent, 
not  so  those  of  mediocre  minds — The  statues  in  the  Piazza. 
della  Signoria  and  alabaster  figures  —  The  discovery  of  a 
hidden  well — My  father  returns  home  without  work,  and 


X  CONTENTS. 

leaves  for  Rome — Young  Signer  Emilio  del  Fabris — Sea- 
baths  and  cholera  at  Leghorn— With  help  I  save  a  woman 
from  drowning — 1  go  to  San  Piero  di  Bagno — My  uncle  the 
provost  dies — My  father  returns  from  Rome,  and  settles  in 
Florence — My  work,  a  group  of  a  Holy  Family,  is  stolen  — 
Description  of  this  group 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  punishment  well  deserved,  and  my  satisfaction — Different  times, 
different  customs — The  use  of  the  birch  given  up  in  schools — 
A  portrait — Companions  and  bad  habits— How  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  my  dear  Marina — My  first  time  of  speaking 
with  her — Difficulty  to  obtain  my  mother's  consent  to  our 
marriage — She  makes  trouble,  thinking  to  do  well — I  am  sent 
away  from  my  betrothed,  and  return  to  bad  habits — An 
escapade  —  The  public  baths  of  Vaga-Loggia — My  clothes 
stolen, -35 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Return  to  the  house  of  my  betrothed,  and  put  an  end  to  my 
thoughtless  ways— A  talking  parrot— He  who  does  not  wish 
to  read  these  pages  knows  what  he  has  to  do  —  How  I  went  to 
prison,  and  how  I  passed  my  time  there — "The  Death  of 
Ferruccio,"  bv  the  painter  Bertoli — Signer  Luigi  Magi,  the 
sculptor — How  I  learnt  to  become  economical — Shirts  with 
plaited  wrist-bands— The  first  love-kiss,  and  a  little  bunch  of 
lemon-verbena  -My  marriage— My  wife  has  doubts  as  to  my 
resolution  of  studying  sculpture—  Pacetti's  shop  in  Palazzo 
Borghese— I  sell  the  "Santa  Filomena"  to  a  Russian,  who 
re-christens  her  "Hope" — I  begin  to  work  on  marble-  I 
make  a  little  crucifix  in  boxwood,  which  is  bought  by  Cav. 
Emanuel  Fenzi — Verses  by  Giovanni  Battista  Niccolmi,  .  52 


CHAPTER   V. 

A  warning  to  young  artists— Professor  Cambi's  propositions — A 
financial  problem  :  to  increase  gain  by  diminishing  the  means 
that  produce  it — I  leave  Sani's  shop  to  have  more  time  and 
liberty  to  study— An  imitation  is  not  so  bad,  but  a  falsification 
is  indeed  an  ugly  thing — The  Marchesa  Poldi  and  a  casket, 
supposed  to  be  an  antique — How  a  master  should  be — The 


CONTENTS.  XI 

death  of  my  mother,  September  1840 — Opinion  of  the  Acad- 
emy—  The  "Tipsy  Bacchante" — A  divided  vote  —  The 
4 '  Cariatidi "  of  the  Rossini  Theatre  at  Leghorn,  ...  72 

CHAPTER  VI. 

An  unjust  law — The  "Abel" — Brina  the  model  and  I  in  danger  of 
being  asphyxiated — My  first  request — Benvenuti  wishes  to 
change  the  name  of  my  Abel  for  that  of  Adonis — I  invite 
Bartolini  to  decide  on  the  name  of  my  statue — Bartolini  at 
my  studio — His  advice  and  corrections  on  the  Abel — Lorenzo 
Bartolini  —  Giuseppe  Sabatelli — Exhibition  of  the  Abel  — 
It  is  said  to  be  cast  from  life — I  ask  for  a  small  studio,  but  do 
not  obtain  it — My  second  and  last  request — The  President 
Antonio  Montalvo — I  don't  succeed  somehow  in  doing  any- 
thing as  I  should— I  talk  over  matters  at  home— Count  del 
Benino  a  true  friend  and  true  benefactor — His  generous 
action, .89 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Grand  Duchess  Maria  of  Russia  and  the  commission  for  the 
Cain  and  Abel — The  Prince  of  Leuchtenberg  and  a  plate  of 
caviale  at  Caffe  Doney— An  unusual  amusement  that  did 
some  good — Again  the  generosity  of  Count  del  Benino — 
Bartolini's  Hunchback,  and  in  consequence  a  return  to  the 
Abel — Bartolini  gets  angry  with  me — Examination  of  the 
materialistic  or  realistic  in  art— Effects  of  the  realistic — Do 
not  have  girls  alone  by  themselves  for  models — Subscription 
got  up  by  the  Sienese  to  have  my  Abel  executed  in  marble — 
A  new  way  of  curing  a  cough — Signora  Letizia's  receipt,  who 
sent  it  and  paid  for  it  herself — One  must  never  offer  works 
gratis,  for  they  are  not  accepted — The  Grand  Duchess  Marie 
Antoinetta  orders  the  "Giotto"  for  the  Uffizi  —  Has  Abel 
killed  Cain?— Statue  of  Pius  II. — A  foolish  opinion  and  im- 
pertinent answer — I  defy  the  law  that  prohibits  eating,  .  .  no 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Literati  at  my  studio,  and  their  influence  on  my  work — Calamatta's 
opinion  of  Tenerani,  of  Bartolini,  and  of  myself — His  defence 
of  my  Abel  in  Paris— Pius  II. — Academicians  and  "  Natural- 
ist!" —  Luigi  Venturi  —  Prince  Anatolia  Demidoff  and  the 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

Princess  Matilde — The  statuette  in  clay  of  the  Princess  Ma- 
tilde  is  destroyed — Our  minister  Nigra  presents  me  to  the 
Emperor  Napoleon  III. — Beauty  does  not  exist  outside  of 
nature  —  Praise  puts  one  to  sleep  —  The  incoherence  of 
Bartolini, 139 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  political  reforms  of  the  year  1847  in  Tuscany — My  first 
scholars — Ciseri,  Prati,  Aleardi,  Fusinato,  Coletti,  and  Chiar- 
ini  the  improvisatore  —  Inedited  verses  by  Prati — Giuseppe 
Verdi — A  digression  on  artistic  individuality — The  Emperor 
of  Russia's  visit  to  my  studio — Reactionary  movement  of  the 
12th  of  April  1849 — I  am  in  danger  of  my  life — The  return  of 
the  Grand  Duke 159 

CHAPTER   X. 

My  wife,  my  little  girls,  and  my  work — Death  of  my  brother  Lo- 
renzo—Death of  Lorenzo  Bartolini — The  base  for  the  ' '  Tazza  " 
— Eight  years  of  work,  only  to  obtain  a  living — Mussini  and 
his  school — Pollastrini — The  school  in  Via  Sant'  Apollini — 
Prince  Demidoff  and  the  monument  by  Bartolini — The  Nymph 
'  of  the  Scorpion  and  the  Nymph  of  the  Serpent,  by  Bartolini 
— Marchese  Ala — Count  Arese — The  four  statuettes  for  Demi- 
doff — Amerigo  of  the  Prince  Corsinis — His  Royal  Highness 
Count  of  Syracuse,  a  sculptor — "Sant'  Antonino"  statue  at 
the  Uffizi, 179 

CHAPTER   XI. 

Close  imitation  from  life — My  illness — I  am  in  danger  of  losing 
my  life — Luigi  del  Punta,  head  physician  at  Court — The 
Grand  Duke  furnishes  me  with  the  means  for  going  to  Naples 
— I  leave  for  Naples — A  beggar  impostor — Another  and  my 
boots — Sorrento — My  Neapolitan  friends — Professor  Tartaglia 
and  the  hydropathic  cure— The  museum  at  Naples — Let  us 
study  the  good  wherever  it  is  to  be  found— A  strange  pres- 
entation,   203 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Pompeii—  A  cameo — Sketch  for  the  Bacco  della  Crittogama — Pro- 
fessor Angelini  the  sculptor — One  must  not  offer  one's  hand 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

with  too  much  freedom  to  ladies — A  hard-hearted  woman 
with  small  intelligence — The  San  Carlo,  the  San  Carlino,  the 
Fenice,  and  the  Sebeto — Monument  by  Donatello  at  Naples 
— The  Barocco  and  mistaken  opinions — Dilettanti  in  the  fine 
arts — Prince  Don  Sebastian  of  Bourbon — Is  the  beard  a  sign 
of  being  Legitimist  or  Liberal?— I  am  taken  for  a  prince  or 
something  like  one — "The  bottle"  for  doorkeepers  and  cvs- 
lodi  of  the  public  museums  of  Naples — Phidias,  Demosthenes, 
and  Cicero  all  against  Ruggero  Bonghi,  ....  223 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Never  make  a  present  of  your  works — Pope  Rezzonico  by  Canova 
— Tenerani — Overbeck's  theories — Minardi  and  his  school — A 
woman  from  the  Trastevere  who  looked  like  the  Venus  of 
Milo — Conventionalists  and  Realists — An  ambitious  question 
and  bitter  answer — Filippo  Gualterio,  .....  242 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

The  nude— The  statue  of  David— Rauch— The  base  of  the  Tazza 
— The  chapel  of  the  Madonna  del  Soccorso— Sepulchral  monu- 
ments for  San  Lorenzo — The  27th  of  April  1859  —  Count 
Scipione  Borghesi— A  group  of  the  Deluge — Competition  for 
Wellington's  monument,  and  a  great  help,  ....  259 

CHAPTER    XV. 

Patience  a  most  essential  virtue— Trust  was  a  good  man,  but  Trust- 
no-one  a  better — A  competition  either  attracts  or  drives  away 
men  of  talent — A  study  from  life  of  a  lion  by  Marrocchetti — 
Assistant  modellers — Sydenham  and  its  wonders — One  of 
"Abel's"  fingers — New  judgment  of  Solomon — An  import- 
ant question — An  Indian  who  speaks  about  things  as  they 
are — Professor  Papi  and  the  failure  of  the  first  cast  in  bronze 
of  the  "Abel" — A  medicine  not  sold  by  the  chemist,  .  .  277 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

On  the  study  of  expression  from  life — The  care  one  must  take  in 
making  studies  from  life — A  genre  picture  and  Raphael's  car- 
toon of  the  "Massacre  of  the  Innocents" — I  lose  myself  in 
London — The  housemaid  at  Hotel  Granara — The  incon- 
venience of  being  ignorant  and  absent-minded — Ristori  and 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

Piccolomini  in  London — The  cartoons  of  Raphael  at  Hamp- 
ton Court — Fantasy  runs  away  with  me  —  A  curious  but 
just  law — The  result  of  fasting — The  villa  of  Quarto  and  a 
prince's  "  early  hour  " — Again  of  Prince  DemidorT,  .  .  301 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

My  father's  death — A  turn  in  the  omnibus — The  Ferrari  monu- 
ment— I  keep  the  "Sappho"  for  myself— The  "Tired  Bac- 
chante "  and  the  little  model — Raphael  and  the  Fornarina — 
The  Madonna  and  bas-reliefs  at  Santa  Croce  and  Cavaliere 
Sloane — My  daughter  Amalia  and  her  works — My  daughter 
Beppina — Description  of  the  bas-relief  on  the  fa9ade  of  Santa 
Croce — I  am  taken  for  the  wrong  person  by  the  Holy  Father 
Pius  IX. — Marshal  Haynau — Professor  Bezzuoli  and  Hay- 
nau's  portrait, 322 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

One  of  my  colleagues — A  mysterious  voice— The  group  of  the 
"  Pieta" — Very  clear  Latin — A  professor  who  ignores  the  '  Di- 
vina  Commedia' — Composition  of  the  group  of  the  "Pieta" 
— Digression — A  good  lesson  and  nervous  attack — Mancinelli 
and  Celentano 345 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

A  prophetic  dream — Giovanni  Strazza — Signor  Vonwiller  and 
societies  for  promoting  art — Return  from  Naples  to  Rome, 
and  my  daughter  Luisina's  illness — Our  return  to  Florence — 
Death  of  Tria  the  model — The  Mossotti  monument  at  Pisa — 
How  it  was  that  I  did  not  make  the  portrait  of  his  Majesty 
the  King— The  competition  for  Cavour's  monument — I  go  to 
Turin  to  pass  judgment  on  it— The  "Christ  after  the  Resurrec- 
tion," a  commission  of  Signor  Filippi  di  But! — Religious  art 
and  Alessandro  Manzoni  and  Gino  Capponi — Thought  is  not 
free — Cavour's  monument — The  description  of  it,  .  .  .  365 

CHAPTER    XX. 

Allegories  in  art — The  Monga  monument  at  Verona — Of  my  late 
daughter  Luisina — Her  death — How  I  was  robbed — Monsig- 
nore  Archbishop  Limberti's  charitable  project — One  of  my 


CONTENTS.  XV 

colleagues— Nicold  Puccini  and  the  statue  of  Cardinal  Forte- 
guerri  —  Cesare  Sighinolfi — Cardinal  Corsi,  Archbishop  of 
Pisa 385 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

The  Universal  Exhibition  at  Paris  in  1867 — The  imitators  of  Vela 
— Ittedited  music  by  Rossini  and  Gustave  Dore1 — Domenico 
Morelli — Group  of  Prince  Trabia's  children  and  the  thieves — 
"Stick  no  bills"— The  statue  of  Marshal  Pallavicini — The 
Empress  Maria  Teresa  and  Marshal  Pallavicini  -A  memorial 
monument  to  Fra  Girolamo  Savonarola — The  Universal  Exhi- 
bition at  Vienna — A  tiny  room — Excellent  and  very  dear — On 
harmony  of  sounds — On  the  harmony  in  the  animal  world — 
The  harmony  of  the  human  form  as  manifested  by  the  inner 
beauty  of  the  soul — The  campanile  of  St  Stephen's  and  Can- 
ova's  monument 402 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

The  palace  of  the  Exhibition  at  Vienna — Why,  with  my  attributes 
of  President,  I  was  in  such  haste — Michael  Angelo  and  Gari- 
baldi— A  Viennese  cabman — The  Camerini  monument — Duke 
Camerini— An  anecdote  of  his  life — Statue  of  Michael  Angelo 
in  the  future — The  centenary  festival  of  Michael  Angelo—  Sig- 
nora  Adelina  Patti — A  greedy  young  man  of  little  judgment 
— The  Favard  monument 418 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

Pius  IX.  objects  to  having  me  make  his  bust — I  go  to  Rome  to  see 
the'  Pope — The  Exhibition  at  Naples — Again  on  idealism  and 
naturalism — The  masters  of  Italian  melody — Vincenzo  Bellini 
and  his  monument — Conclusion,  ......  438 

INDEX 453 


GIOVANNI   DUPRE. 


CHAPTER    I. 


MY  MOTIVE  FOR  WRITING  THESE  MEMOIRS — MY  FATHERS  FAMILY — REMOVAL 
OF  THE  FAMILY  TO  FLORENCE — MY  CHILDHOOD— MY  FATHER  TAKES  ME  TO 
PISTOIA,  BUT  I  RUN  AWAY  FROM  HIS  HOUSE  TO  RETURN  TO  MY  MOTHER — 
FROM  PISTOIA  I  GO  WITH  MY  FATHER  TO  PRATO — MY  FIRST  STUDY  IN 
DRAWING — STRONG  IMPRESSION  MADE  UPON  ME  BY  AN  OLD  PRINT — MY 

FATHER'S  OPPOSITION  TO   MY  STUDIES — MY  SORROW  AT  BEING  so  FAR 

FROM  MY  MOTHER — I  RUN  THE  RISK  OF  BEING  BURNT — HAVING  GROWN 
TALL,  FEARS  ARE  ENTERTAINED  FOR  MY  HEALTH— I  RETURN  TO  MY 
MOTHER  AT  FLORENCE  AND  WORK  WITH  AMMANATI — I  GO  TO  SIENA  AND 
STUDY  ORNATE  DESIGN  IN  THE  ACADEMY — CARLO  PINI  GIVES  ME  LESSONS 
IN  DRAWING  THE  HUMAN  FIGURE — SIGNOR  ANGELO  BARBETTl's  PROPHECY 
—I  RUN  AWAY  FROM  SIENA,  AND  ON  FOOT  GO  TO  MY  MOTHER  AT  FLORENCE 
—SIGNOR  PAOLO  SANI— DEATH  OF  MY  SISTER  CLEMENTINA — MY  MOTHER'S 
INFIRMITY  OF  EYESIGHT — MY  BROTHER  LORENZO  GOES  TO  THE  POORHOUSE 
—  MY  AVERSION  TO  LEARN  READING  AND  WRITING — MY  FIRST  LIBRARY, 
AND  INEXPERIENCE  OF  BOOKS. 


HAVE  often  thought  that  perhaps  it  would 
be  well  for  me  to  leave  some  written  me- 
moirs of  my  life — not  only  for  the  sake  of 
my  family,  but  also  for  the  young  artists  of 
the  future;  but  I  have  hitherto  been  deterred  from 
so  doing  by  the  fear  lest  I  might  seem  to  have  been 
prompted  by  pride  and  vanity.  Since,  however,  various 


2  MY  FATHER'S  FAMILY. 

notices  of  my  life  and  my  doings  in  art  have  been  made 
public,  it  may  not  be  either  without  interest,  or  indeed 
without  a  certain  utility,  if  I  venture  now  to  speak  at 
length  on  these  subjects ;  for  it  seems  to  me  that  these 
memoirs  may  not  only  serve  as  an  encouragement  to 
timid  but  well-disposed  youths,  but  may  at  the  same 
time  be  a  severe  admonition  to  those  who,  presuming 
too  much  on  themselves,  imagine  that  with  little  study 
and  great  boldness  they  can  wing  their  way  up  the  steps 
of  Art  instead  of  laboriously  climbing  them. 

My  father  was  Francesco  Dupre,  the  youngest  son  of 
Lorenzo  Dupre,  who  came  to  Siena  with  the  princes  of 
Lorraine.  My  grandfather  kept  a  draper's  shop  in  the 
Piazza  del  Campo,  where  at  first,  through  his  activity  and 
honesty,  his  business  so  prospered  that  he  was  able  to 
give  his  family  a  good  education ;  and  my  father  was  just 
entering  on  the  course  of  studies  that  his  brothers  had 
already  finished,  when  my  grandfather,  through  the 
ignorance  and  bad  faith  of  his  debtors  and  his  own  de- 
termination to  be  honest  himself,  was  reduced  to  poverty. 
In  consequence  of  this,  my  father  was  obliged  to  discon- 
tinue his  studies,  and  to  set  to  work  to  learn  a  trade,  in 
order  that  he  might  earn  his  bread  as  soon  as  possible; 
and  thinking  to  derive  some  advantage  from  the  studies 
he  had  already  made  in  drawing,  he  apprenticed  himself 
to  a  wood-carver.  Later  he  married  Victoria  Lombardi 
of  Siena,  and  she  was  my  mother.  I  was  born  on  the 
ist  of  March  1817,  in  Via  San  Salvadore,  in  the  Con- 
trada  dell'  Onda,  and  lived  in  Siena  until  I  was  four 
years  old.  My  family  then  removed  to  Florence,  where 
my  father  went,  at  the  request  of  the  wood-carver,  Signer 
Paolo  Sani,  to  help  him  in  the  execution  of  some  intaglio 
decorations  in  the  Palazzo  Borghese,  which  the  Prince 
was  anxious  to  have  finished  within  the  shortest  possible 


FAMILY  AND  CHILDHOOD.  3 

time.  My  recollections  of  those  early  days  are  not  worth 
recording.  I  grew  up  from  a  little  boy  going  with  my 
father  to  the  shop.  I  had  a  few  lessons  in  the  Catechism 
and  in  reading  from  a  schoolmistress  who  lodged  in  our 
house.  In  the  evening  my  babbo1  used  to  read  and 
explain  some  Latin  book  (I  do  not  remember  what  it 
was),  perhaps  for  the  innocent  satisfaction  of  letting  us 
know  that  he  had  studied  that  language,  but  certainly 
with  no  profit  to  me,  who  understood  nothing  and  was 
greatly  bored.  When,  however,  he  gave  me  some  of  his 
designs  of  ornamentation,  such  as  leaves,  arabesques, 
and  friezes,  to  copy,  I  was  very  happy.  The  time  passed 
without  my  knowing  it ;  and  such  was  my  delight  in  this 
occupation,  that  I  often  put  off  the  hour  of  supper  or 
sleep  and  gave  up  any  amusement  for  it.  At  home  we 
lived  very  poorly.  My  father  earned  little,  for  his  work 
was  badly  paid,  and  by  nature  he  was  slow.  This  poverty 
of  our  daily  life  began  to  disturb  the  relations  between 
my  father  and  mother.  The  family  had  increased,  and 
besides  my  eldest  sister  Clementina,  who  died  soon  after- 
wards, were  born  Lorenzo  and  Maddalena.  I  remember 
the  sharpness  of  the  tones,  but  not  the  sense  of  the  words 
that  passed  between  my  parents ;  and  the  tears  of  my 
mother  and  sullen  silence  of  my  father  frightened  us 
little  ones,  and  filled  us  with  sadness. 

It  was  impossible  that  such  a  state  of  things  could  last 
long,  and  my  father  decided  to  leave  Florence  and  go  to 
Pistoia,  where  he  thought  he  could  earn  more  money.  I 
was  destined  to  follow  him,  while  the  others  remained 
with  my  mother.  For  more  than  three  years  I  stayed 
with  him.  My  life  was  sad  for  me  here,  as  the  distance 
from  my  mother  made  it  almost  unbearable ;  and  all  the 
more  so  because  my  father,  whenever  he  went  to  Florence 
1  "  Babbo  "  is  the  familiar  word  for  father  in  Tuscany. 


4  LONGING  TO  BE  AN   ARTIST. 

to  see  her,  as  he  sometimes  did,  always  left  me  behind 
him,  alone,  at  Pistoia.  Once,  when  I  was  barely  seven 
years  old,  I  ran  away  from  the  house,  and  went  on  foot  to 
Florence,  although  I  knew  for  a  certainty  that  I  should 
have  to  pay  dearly  for  the  kisses  and  caresses  of  my 
mother  by  a  thrashing  from  the  babbo.  Nor  was  I  mis- 
taken :  I  got  the  thrashing,  and  was  brought  back. 

About  this  time  there  awoke  in  me  a  certain  sentiment 
and  longing  to  try  to  draw  the  human  figure  —  leaves 
and  grumoli  had  begun  to  weary  me ;  and  this  desire  was 
developed  in  an  odd  way.  There  was  in  Pistoia,  in  the 
house  of  a  certain  gilder  named  Canini,  a  little  theatre 
for  puppets,  and  one  of  the  characters,  which  was 
wanted  for  a  certain  performance,  happened  to  be  miss- 
ing. Canini,  who  was  a  friend  of  my  father,  was  much 
put  out  by  this  loss,  and  came  to  beg  my  father  to  make 
the  head  and  hands  for  the  puppet.  He  answered  that 
he  could  not  do  this,  as  he  had  never  attempted  anything 
in  the  way  of  figures ;  and  the  poor  gilder,  who  was  di- 
rector and  proprietor  of  the  company,  was  at  a  loss  to 
know  where  to  turn.  I,  with  the  utmost  effrontery,  then 
offered  to  make  the  head  and  hands  myself;  and  as 
Canini  was  hopeful  as  well  as  incredulous,  and  my  father 
gave  a  sort  of  half  consent,  I  set  to  work,  and  succeeded 
so  well  that  my  puppet  turned  out  to  be  the  most  beau- 
tiful "  personage  "  of  the  company.  The  happy  result 
encouraged  me  to  go  on,  and  I  remade  almost  all  the 
puppets.  I  also  made  some  small  ducks  in  cork,  that 
were  to  appear  in  a  pond,  and  were  moved  about  here 
and  there  by  silk  threads.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  see  the 
little  creatures — they  turned  out  so  well,  and  had  such  a 
look  of  reality;  and  this  I  was  enabled  to  give  them 
because  in  the  court  of  our  house  there  were  some  ducks 
which  I  could  copy  from  life.  Ah,  Nature !  not  only 


I   GO  TO  PRATO.  5 

is  it  a  great  help,  but  it  is  the  principal  foundation  of 
Art! 

From  Pistoia  the  babbo  took  me  to  Prato,  where  he 
had  been  requested  to  go  by  the  gilder  Signer  Stefano 
Mazzoni.  There  we  took  up  our  abode  in  a  street  and 
court  called  II  Giuggiolo.  In  the  same  house,  and 
almost  with  us,  lived  a  man  from  Lucca,  who  made  little 
plaster- images,  and  was  one  of  the  many  who  go  about 
the  streets  selling  little  coloured  figures  for  a  few  sous. 
This  connection,  ridiculous  as  it  may  appear,  inspired  me 
more  and  more  with  a  desire  for  the  study  of  figures.  It 
is  true  these  figures  and  parrots  and  clowns  were  ugly ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  their  innocent  ugliness  attracted 
me,  and  filled  me  with  a  longing,  not  indeed  to  imitate 
them,  but  to  do  something  better.  In  turning  over  my 
father's  papers  and  designs,  I  found  a  quantity  of  prints, 
fashion-plates  of  dresses,  landscapes,  and  animals,  and 
particularly  (I  remember  it  so  well  that  I  could  draw 
it  now)  a  large  print  representing  the  building  of  the 
Temple  of  Jerusalem.  In  the  distance  you  saw  the 
building  just  begun,  and  rising  a  little  above  its  foun- 
dations. Carts  loaded  with  heavy  materials  and  tall 
straight  timber  (the  cedars  of  Lebanon)  were  dragged 
along  by  a  great  many  oxen  and  camels,  amid  a  vast  num- 
ber of  people  and  things.  On  all  sides  were  workmen  of 
every  kind,  some  carving  the  columns,  some  putting  up 
a  jamb  and  squaring  it,  some  sawing  timber,  and  some 
busied  in  making  ditches;  others  were  talking,  or  lis- 
tening, or  admiring:  and  all  the  scene  was  animated  with 
a  truly  marvellous  life.  In  the  foreground  you  saw  the 
majestic  figure  of  Solomon,  surrounded  by  his  ministers 
and  soldiers,  showing  his  architect  (with  his  scholars) 
the  designs  of  the  Temple.  In  fact,  it  was  a  wonderful 
thing  to  behold,  and  I  was  so  enchanted  that  I  could 


6  MY   FIRST  DRAWINGS. 

not  sleep  for  thinking  of  it,  for  it  seemed  to  me  impos- 
sible that  any  man  could  imagine  and  execute  anything 
so  marvellous.  My  little  head  seemed  on  fire,  it  was  so 
full  of  these  figures.  I  tried  at  first  to  copy  in  part  this 
print,  which,  above  all  the  others,  had  taken  my  fancy ; 
but  I  did  not  succeed,  and  I  was  so  discouraged  that  I 
sat  down  and  cried.  And  not  for  this  only  I  cried,  but 
also  because  my  father  looked  with  so  unfavourable 
eye  on  these  efforts  of  mine — they  seeming  to  him  quite 
unnecessary  for  an  intagliatore — that,  in  order  to  go  on 
with  these  studies,  I  was  obliged  to  hide  myself  almost, 
and  to  work  in  spare  moments.  Finding  this  print  so 
complicated  that  I  could  in  no  way  copy  it,  I  then  un- 
dertook to  copy  the  little  costume-figures  that  I  found 
amongst  the  prints.  These,  one  by  one,  I  drew  dur- 
ing the  evening,  after  my  father  had  gone  to  bed  and 
was  asleep;  and  sometimes  it  happened  that  I  fell 
asleep  over  my  drawing,  and  on  waking  found  myself  in 
the  dark,  with  the  little  lamp  gone  out.  This  constant 
exercise,  to  which  I  gave  myself  every  day  with  great 
ardour,  so  trained  my  hand  and  practised  my  eye,  that 
my  last  drawings  were  made  with  little  or  no  erasures. 

But  though  I  derived  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction  from 
these  small  drawings,  my  heart  was  still  oppressed  at 
being  so  far  from  my  mother.  I  longed  to  see  her, 
and  have  her  near  me,  and  begged  my  father  to  take 
me  to  her,  or  at  least  to  send  me  to  her  by  the  carrier ; 
but  wishes  and  prayers  were  useless.  My  father  went 
sometimes,  it  is  true,  to  see  her;  but  although  I  was  only 
seven  or  eight  years  of  age,  I  had  to  remain  behind  at 
Prato  to  look  after  the  house.  I  do  not  wish  to  blame 
my  father,  but  neither  then  nor  since  have  I  been  able 
to  understand  his  notions  of  things ;  and  certainly,  to 
keep  a  little  boy  alone  by  himself  in  a  house,  and  often 


AN   ACCIDENT — DELICATE   HEALTH.  7 

for  several  days  together,  is  not  to  be  recommended. 
One  evening  I  remember,  when,  having  fallen  asleep 
while  reading  at  the  table,  with  my  head  bent  near 
the  lamp,  my  little  cap  caught  on  fire,  and  I  woke  up 
with  my  hair  in  flames.  But  this  adventurous  life — 
beaten  about,  thwarted  in  all  my  wishes  and  in  all  my 
affections — formed  my  character.  I  became  accustomed 
to  suffer,  to  persevere,  and  to  obey,  while  I  always  kept 
alive  those  desires  and  affections  which  my  conscience 
assured  me  were  good. 

About  this  time,  what  with  continuous  study,  hardish 
work  in  my  father's  shop,  and  the  melancholy  that 
weighed  upon  me  because  I  could  not  see  my  mother, 
my  health  began  to  fail.  Even  before  this,  and  indeed 
from  my  birth,  I  had  always  been  delicate,  but  now  I 
became  so  pale  and  weak  that  every  one  called  me  il 
morticino  (the  little  dead  fellow).  A  physician  who  ex- 
amined me  about  this  time  talked  seriously  to  my  father 
about  me  on  the  subject,  telling  him  that  I  ought  to  rest 
longer  in  the  mornings  (my  father  rose  very  early,  and  I 
had  to  get  up  to  go  with  him  to  the  shop),  and  eat  more 
nourishing  food ;  and  he  explained  what  it  should  be. 
Amongst  other  things,  I  remember  he  ordered  me  to 
drink  goat's  milk,  milked  and  drunk  on  the  spot,  as  soon 
as  I  got  out  of  bed,  before  leaving  my  room.  This 
treatment  succeeded  marvellously.  Every  day  I  gained 
strength,  colour,  and  flesh.  The  little  goat  that  came 
every  morning  to  my  room  to  pay  me  a  visit,  and 
brought  me  her  milk,  sweet,  warm,  and  light,  will  be 
always  remembered  by  me ;  and  I  still  have  a  feeling  for 
the  little  creature,  even  after  half  a  century,  which  I 
cannot  well  define. 

Restored  to  health,  I  was  taken  to  see  my  mother  in 
Florence.  My  own  great  joy,  as  well  as  her  caresses  and 


8  ACADEMY  AT   SIENA. 

petitions  that  I  might  be  left  with  her,  it  is  impossible  to 
describe.  She  insisted  that  she  would  find  me  a  shop 
where  I  could  go  and  continue  to  learn  the  art  of  wood- 
carving.  Thank  God,  this  time  my  mother's  tenderness 
overcame  my  father's  tenacity  (loving  though  it  was), 
and  I  was  allowed  to  remain  with  her.  They  both  looked 
about  to  find  me  a  shop,  and  I  was  finally  placed 
in  Borgo  Sant'  Jacopo,  with  the  wood-carvers  Gaetano 
Ammanati  and  Luigi  Pieraccini,  who  worked  together. 
They  were  both  very  able  men,  certainly  much  more  so 
than  my  father,  who,  poor  man,  owing  to  the  constant 
requirements  of  the  family,  had  never  been  able  to  perfect 
himself  in  his  art.  In  this  shop  figures  were  carved,  so 
that  I  had  before  me  models  and  teachers,  as  well  as  in- 
citement to  work.  My  principals  liked  me,  and  I  them  ; 
and  I  should  have  remained  with  them  who  knows  how 
long,  had  I  not  been  carried  off  by  another  intagliatore. 
And  the  way  in  which  it  happened  was  this:  Signor  Paolo 
Sani,  a  carver  in  wood  who  sometimes  came  on  business 
or  for  other  reasons  to  Ammanati's,  seeing  that  my  work 
was  fairly  good,  and  that  I  worked  with  goodwill,  deter- 
mined, if  possible,  to  take  me  away  to  work  for  him. 
He  wrote,  therefore,  to  my  father,  who  had  returned  to 
Siena,  asking  him  to  remove  me  from  Ammanati's  shop, 
and  send  me  to  him,  binding  himself  to  pay  me  double 
the  salary  that  I  was  then  receiving.  As  he  did  not  wish, 
however,  to  appear  to  act  underhandedly  (though  this 
was  really  the  case),  he  persuaded  my  father  to  take  me 
to  Siena,  and  place  me  at  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  to 
study  drawing;  and  he  promised,  after  I  had  passed 
some  months  there,  to  take  me  to  work  in  his  own  shop. 
My  father  accepted  the  offer,  and  I  was  obliged  to  go  to 
Siena,  where  I  studied  in  the  Academy  at  the  school  of 
"  Ornato,"  which  was  then  under  the  direction  of  Pro- 


ANGELO  BARBETTl'S   PROPHECY.  9 

fessor  Dei.  Out  of  school  hours  my  father  let  me  work 
upon  anything  I  liked — such  as  children's  heads,  angels, 
and  even  crucifixes.  God  knows  what  rubbish  they  were  ! 
I  also  took  lessons,  in  drawing  the  human  figure,  of  Signer 
Carlo  Pini,  then  the  custode  of  the  Academy,  and  after- 
wards one  of  the  most  distinguished  annotators  of  Vasari, 
and  keeper  of  the  drawings  by  the  old  masters  in  the 
Royal  Gallery  of  the  Uffizi. 

At  that  time  Sign  or  Angelo  Barbetti,  a  very  skilful 
wood-carver,  was  at  Siena,  and  my  father  wished  to  place 
me  in  his  shop,  which  was  in  the  Piazza  di  San  Giovanni. 
But  Signor  Angelo  was  as  irascible  and  fault-finding  as  he 
was  intelligent;  and  one  day,  when  I  had  not  succeeded  in 
executing  some  work  that  he  had  given  me,  he  struck  me 
on  the  head,  accompanying  the  blow  with  these  words, 
which  hurt  me  more  than  the  blow  itself — "  You  will 
always  be  an  ass,  harnessed  and  shod,  even  when  the 
beard  is  on  your  chin."  Afterwards  I  was  sent  to  Signor 
Antonio  Manetti,  who  not  only  carved  ornaments  and 
figures  in  wood,  but  also  worked  in  marble,  and  was  occu- 
pied in  restoring  the  fagade  of  the  cathedral.  Signor 
Manetti  was  a  man  of  no  common  genius — he  designed 
and  sculptured  ornaments  and  figures  with  much  facility 
and  cleverness.  But  even  with  him  I  was  not  fortunate. 
He  gave  me  a  little  Napoleonic  eagle  with  thunderbolts  in 
his  claws  to  execute.  For  what  it  was  intended  I  do  not 
remember,  but  apparently  I  did  not  succeed  in  satisfying 
him.  In  this  case,  however,  there  were  neither  blows  on 
the  head  nor  bitter  words,  but,  with  a  certain  haughty 
dignity,  he  took  my  poor  little  eaglet  in  his  hand,  and 
dashed  it  to  the  ground,  breaking  it  to  atoms  in  spite  of 
the  thunderbolts.  Viewed  from  this  long  distance  of  time, 
this  scene  has  a  somewhat  comic  character,  and  must 
seem  especially  so  to  one  who  hears  it  described.  But 


10  I   RUN   AWAY   FROM   SIENA. 

for  me,  a  poor  little  boy,  anxious  to  learn  and  get  on,  so 
as  to  lighten,  as  far  as  possible,  the  burden  on  my  father 
— who,  poor  man,  earned  little,  and  of  that  little  was 
obliged  to  send  a  portion  to  his  family  in  Florence — it 
was  quite  another  thing ;  and  though  I  felt  within  myself 
that  I  was  not  a  complete  donkey,  still  to  see  my  work 
thrown  thus  brutally  on  the  ground  was  so  painful  to  me 
that  it  took  away  all  my  little  strength.  I  wept  in  secret ; 
and  as  the  time  assigned  by  Signer  Paolo  Sani  and  my 
father  for  my  return  had  arrived,  I  begged  my  father  to 
send  me  back  to  Florence.  He  wished,  however,  to  keep 
me  with  him  still  longer,  and  so  I  occupied  myself  in 
making  angels  and  seraphim  heads  for  churches. 

I  begged  and  begged  my  father  to  take  me  to  Flor- 
ence, to  see  my  mother.  He  promised  to  do  so  at 
Easter.  Meanwhile,  I  contented  myself  with  this  hope ; 
but  on  the  eve  of  Easter  he  told  me  he  could  not  go,  on 
account  of  his  engagements,  which  would  detain  him  at 
Siena,  and  also  for  many  other  reasons  that  I  could  not 
and  would  not  understand.  Now,  however,  my  patience 
gave  way  before  my  loving  desire  to  see  my  mother ;  and 
without  saying  a  word,  I  rose  early  and  ran  away  from 
the  house.  Passing  out  of  the  Porta  Camollia,  I  set  off 
on  my  walk  with  only  a  bit  of  bread  in  my  pocket,  in 
the  boyish  hope  of  reaching  my  destination  the  same 
day,  and  so  passing  my  Easter  with  my  mother,  without 
reflecting  that,  by  so  doing,  I  should  pass  it  neither  with 
my  father  nor  my  mother.  I  was  about  nine  years  old, 
and  walked  on  with  courage  beyond  my  strength.  So 
great  was  my  desire  to  get  to  Florence,  that  I  passed 
Staggia  and  Poggibonsi  without  feeling  tired ;  but  near 
Barberino — which  is  about  twenty  miles  from  Siena,  and 
half-way  to  Florence  —  my  mind  misgave  me  that  I 
should  not  be  able  to  arrive  in  Florence  that  evening ; 


WEARINESS   AND   REMORSE.  II 

and  then  my  strength  abandoned  me,  and  I  was  so 
overcome  with  fatigue  that  I  could  not  get  up  from  a 
little  wall  on  which  I  had  seated  myself  to  rest.  I  had 
not  a  penny.  No  carts  or  carriages  were  passing  that  way. 
It  was  Easter,  and  every  one  was  at  home  resting  for 
his  holiday ;  and  I,  there  I  was  alone  in  the  middle  of 
the  road,  oppressed  with  weariness  and  remorse  for  having 
left  my  father  in  such  anxiety.  At  times  I  hoped  that 
he  might  come  after  me  with  a  carnage  to  take  me  up, 
and  I  quite  resigned  myself  to  a  sound  beating ;  but  even 
this  hope  was  vain,  and  I  had  to  continue  my  walk. 
How  many  sad  thoughts  passed  one  after  another 
through  my  little  tired  head  !  What  will  my  mother,  who 
is  expecting  us,  do  or  say?  What  will  my  babbo  think, 
left  alone,  and  not  knowing  where  I  am  ?  He  will  be 
certainly  looking  for  me,  and  asking  after  me  from  every 
one  in  Siena.  What  will  become  of  me  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  if  night  overtakes  me?  This  thought  gave 
strength  and  energy  to  my  will,  and  on  I  went.  I  don't 
think  that  I  was  frightened.  At  length  my  strength 
was  exhausted;  the  sun  began  to  set;  I  was  seven  or 
eight  miles  from  San  Casciano,  and  I  could  not  be  cer- 
tain of  arriving  even  there  to  pass  the  night.  I  stopped 
at  a  wretched  little  house  to  rest,  and  asked  for  a  glass 
of  water.  A  man,  a  woman,  and  several  children  were 
eating.  They  asked  me  where  I  came  from,  and  I  told 
them.  With  expressions  of  compassion,  especially  from 
the  woman,  they  gathered  round  me,  gave  me  some 
bread,  a  hard-boiled  egg,  and  a  little  wine,  and  I  thanked 
them  with  emotion.  They  wanted  me  to  stay  with  them 
until  the  next  day — and  tired  out  as  I  was,  I  should  have 
stayed  and  accepted  their  kindly  offer ;  but  at  this  mo- 
ment a  vettura  for  Florence  passed  by,  and  with  my 
eyes  full  of  tears  I  told  them  how  infinitely  grateful  I 


12  I    REACH   FLORENCE — MY   MOTHER. 

should  be  if  I  could  be  allowed  to  fasten  myself  in  any 
way  on  to  the  carriage.  The  driver,  who  had  stopped 
to  get  a  glass  of  wine,  seeing  the  state  I  was  in,  and 
hearing  my  story  from  these  good  country  people,  took 
me  up  on  the  box  by  his  side,  and  earned  me  to  Florence, 
where  we  arrived  in  less  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour, 
an  hour  after  nightfall.  As  my  mother  and  the  other 
children  lived  in  Via  Toscanelli,  when  we  were  near  the 
Sdrucciolo  de'  Pitti  the  good  driver  set  me  down  there. 
I  descended  from  the  box  and  ran — no,  I  could  not  run, 
for  my  feet  were  swollen,  and  my  sides  numb,  but  my 
heart  was  glad,  exultant,  and  throbbing.  I  knocked ;  my 
mother  came  to  the  window  and  saw  me,  but  she  did  not 
recognise  me  until  I  spoke,  and  then  she  gave  a  scream 
and  came  down.  What  followed  I  cannot  recount.  Those 
who  have  a  heart  will  imagine  it  better  than  I  can  tell  it. 
Neither  the  good  family  who  welcomed  and  refreshed  me, 
nor  the  honest  humane  carrier,  have  I  ever  seen,  for  I 
remained  in  Florence,  and  did  not  return  to  Siena  until 
many  years  after.  Then  I  made  all  possible  researches 
to  find  both  the  one  and  the  other,  but  I  could  never 
find  them.  Not,  indeed,  that  I  wished  to  remunerate 
them  with  money  (the  price  of  charity  has  not  yet  been 
named),  but  I  wished  to  express  to  them  my  gratitude ; 
and  this  is  the  only  recompense  acceptable  to  charitable 
hearts. 

The  day  after,  as  I  hoped  and  feared,  the  babbo 
arrived,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  me,  his  expression, 
anxious  and  grieved  as  it  was,  became  threatening.  His 
few  ill-repressed  words  were  the  sure  sign  of  the  blows 
to  come,  and  he  was  just  going  to  strike  me  when  my 
mother,  with  indescribable  tenderness,  caught  me  in  her 
arms  and  pressed  me  to  her,  with  her  face  and  eyes 
turned  towards  my  father,  without  uttering  a  word. 


PAOLO   SANI'S   SHOP.  13 

Softened  by  this,  he  then  began  a  long  speech  on  the 
obedience  and  submission  due  from  children  to  the  holy 
parental  authority,  not  omitting  to  censure  my  mother's 
indulgence  and  petting.  After  this  I  begged  his  pardon, 
and  all  was  at  an  end.  My  father  returned  to  Siena,  and 
I  went  to  Signor  Sani's  shop  (built  with  his  own  money), 
in  the  Piazza,  di  San  Biagio,  under  the  Piatti  printing- 
office.  Signor  Paolo  Sani  was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  thin, 
pale,  and  exceedingly  active.  He  had  a  great  deal  of 
work  to  do,  and  was  employed  by  the  Court  and  first 
houses  in  Florence.  His  taste  was  not  exquisite,  but  he 
understood  effects  and  proportions,  so  that  his  decora- 
tive carving,  either  in  the  way  of  furniture,  caskets, 
frames,  chandeliers,  or  ornamental  work  for  churches, 
was  greatly  in  demand.  He  had  many  men,  and  the 
works  succeeded  each  other  with  great  rapidity.  In 
his  house  he  had  portfolios  full  of  designs,  and  the  walls 
of  his  shop  were  covered  with  plaster  casts,  bas-reliefs 
of  figures,  and  ornaments,  animals,  arabesques,  flowers, 
angels,  &c.,  making  a  strange  fantastic  medley  full  of 
attraction  for  me.  When  the  master  was  not  there,  the 
men  at  their  work  used  to  talk  and  sing ;  but  when  any 
one  saw  him  coming,  the  scene  changed,  and  there  was 
perfect  silence.  I  came  into  the  shop  as  an  apprentice 
and  errand-boy  ;  so  that  although  I  had  my  little  bench, 
with  my  tools  and  work,  yet,  if  there  was  any  glue  to 
be  heated  or  made,  or  the  tools  were  to  be  taken  to  the 
grinder,  or  the  breakfast  to  be  brought  for  the  men,  this 
duty  always  fell  upon  me.  But  I  did  not  in  the  least 
complain.  It  is  true  that  amongst  these  duties  there^ 
was  one  for  which  I  had  a  dislike,  although  I  did  not 
show  it,  and  this  was  carrying  a  basket  full  of  shavings  on 
my  back  to  the  master's  house  in  the  Borgo  Sant'  Jacopo. 
To  go  there  I  had  to  pass  through  the  Mercato  Nuovo 


14  DEATH   OF   MY   SISTER. 

and  over  Ponte  Vecchio,  which  is  much  frequented  at 
all  hours,  as  every  one  knows  ;  and  during  this  year  I 
went  there  with  the  basket  of  shavings  on  my  back. 
Notwithstanding  this,  I  was  well  off  in  the  shop,  and  was 
light-hearted  from  being  near  my  mother  and  sisters. 
One  of  my  sisters — my  elder  by  a  year — died  soon  after 
my  return  from  my  wanderings  with  my  father.  Poor 
Clementina !  she  was  so  good,  delicate  in  health,  and 
suffering.  Indeed,  we  all  suffered  because  of  our 
poverty.  Father  sent  us  little,  for  he  earned  little,  and 
our  bread  was  often  wet  with  tears  because  we  could  not 
help  our  mother  as  we  wished.  Added  to  this,  she  could 
do  almost  nothing  herself  on  account  of  her  infirmity 
of  eyesight,  which  little  by  little  so  increased,  that  at  last 
she  was  no  longer  able  to  see  us ;  and  as  I  have  already 
said,  Clementina  died.  God  willed  it  so — to  shorten  her 
road,  which  was  too  full  of  thorns  and  danger,  to  one 
pretty  as  she  was,  artless,  away  from  the  father's  watch- 
ful eye,  and  with  her  mother  blind.  My  other  smaller 
sister  Maddalena  accompanied  her  mother  when  she  went 
out,  as  she  did  in  the  endeavour  to  earn  something  by 
buying  and  selling  women's  old  clothes.  My  brother 
Lorenzo  (perhaps  because  he  was  too  quick-tempered) 
was  obliged  to  go  to  the  poorhouse,  and  here  he  learnt 
the  art  of  carpet-maker.  After  a  short  time,  however,  he 
came  out  and  returned  to  Parenti,  who  had  a  carpet 
manufactory  in  the  ancient  refectory  of  the  monks  of 
Santa  Croce,  where  he  remained  for  some  time. 

But  all  these  difficulties  and  sorrows  one  feels  less  in 
early  years,  and  in  spite  of  them  I  was  light-hearted.  I 
had  the  master's  goodwill,  and  the  men  in  the  shop 
treated  me  with  the  open  cordial  heartiness  belonging  to 
that  class  in  those  days.  My  love  for  the  study  of  design 
increased,  and  in  the  off-hours  of  work  I  used  to  stay  be- 


BACKWARDNESS  AT  SCHOOL.  15 

hind  in  the  shop  and  eat  a  bit  of  bread  there,  and  draw 
from  some  of  the  casts  hanging  on  the  walls,  without 
taking  them  down  or  even  dusting  them.  I  began  with 
little  things  such  as  leaves,  branches,  small  figures,  cap- 
itals of  columns,  heads  of  animals,  and  so  on  and  so 
on,  until  I  got  to  figures.  In  the  shop  there  were  two 
beautiful  bas-reliefs  from  the  pulpit  in  Santa  Croce,  two 
from  the  doors  of  the  sacristy  of  the  Duomo  by  Luca  della 
Robbia,  and  several  of  those  little  figures  by  Ghiberti 
which  surround  the  principal  door  of  San  Giovanni.  All 
these  casts  I  drew  during  this  period — badly,  as  one  may 
imagine,  and  without  guide  or  method;  but  still,  this 
served  to  occupy  me  pleasantly,  and  also  to  keep  alive 
within  me  the  craving  to  learn  and  advance  myself,  so 
as  to  be  able  to  do  other  and  more  important  work  in 
the  shop,  and  thus  gain  distinction. 

This  desire  of  distinguishing  myself  has  always  been 
very  strong  in  me ;  and  through  all  my  privations,  dis- 
comforts, loss  of  sleep,  harsh  corrections,  irony,  and 
scorn,  I  was  borne  up  by  this  desire  to  do  myself  credit, 
and  see  my  father  and  mother  rejoice  in  me  and  for  me ; 
and  also,  I  must  confess,  by  the  hope  of  seeing  the  rage 
of  those  who  had  treated  me  with  irony  and  scorn.  But 
if  I  learned,  more  and  more  every  day,  how  to  design  and 
to  carve  in  wood — for  this  was  very  attractive  to  me — in 
everything  else  I  was  perfectly  ignorant.  I  had  not  even 
learned  to  read  well,  and  could  not  write  at  all.  My 
father  had  tried  placing  me  at  a  public  school,  but  I 
learned  absolutely  nothing  there.  The  rudiments  of 
writing  and  arithmetic  were  so  irksome  to  me  that  the 
master  in  despair  sent  me  home  again,  and  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  such  a  little  dunce.  For  all  this,  I  had 
my  little  library  at  home,  which  I  kept  with  great  care 
locked  up  in  a  small  box  in  my  room,  and  it  was  com- 


1 6  MY   FIRST   LIBRARY. 

posed  of  seven  or  eight  books.  These  I  had  bought  in 
the  streets  from  book-stalls  set  against  old  walls,  and 
they  were  as  follows :  A  volume  of  the  '  Capitoli  of  Berni,' 
'Paul  and  Virginia,'  and  'Atala  and  Chatta'  (translations 
of  course),  a  volume  of  the  comedies  of  Alberto  Nota, 
and  the  '  Jerusalem  Liberated,'  '  Guerrino  Meschino  agli 
Alberi  del  Sole,' '  Oreste,'  and  the  '  Pazzi  Conspiracy.'  At 
first  I  understood  almost  nothing  excepting  some  of  the 
adventures  of  Guerrino.  Afterwards  '  Atala  and  Chatta ' 
and  'Paul  and  Virginia'  became  my  favourite  reading;  and 
so  much  did  I  like  them,  and  so  often  did  I  read  them, 
that  whole  pages  remained  in  my  memory.  Then  I  fell  in 
love  with  the  'Jerusalem,'  and  this  my  memory  more  easily 
retained.  Some  of  the  verses  I  tried  to  write  from  memory, 
in  a  little  running  hand,  copying  the  letters  from  my 
father's  writing,  for,  as  I  have  said  before,  I  never  learnt 
the  rudiments  of  writing ;  and  those  pot-hooks,  and  big 
letters  between  two  lines,  never  were  to  my  taste.  As  to 
other  things,  I  had  the  innocence  and  good  faith  belong- 
ing to  my  age  and  the  imperfect  education  I  had  re- 
ceived. I  thought  all  books  good — good  because  they 
were  printed — and  not  only  good  at  home,  but  good 
everywhere  else;  and  so  I  used  to  take  my  books  to 
read  in  church  during  the  Mass.  One  day  (it  was  Sun- 
day) at  mid-day  Mass  in  Sant'Jacopo,  while  I  was  reading 
the  'Conspiracy  of  the  Pazzi,'  my  master,  Signor  Sani, 
who  lived  opposite  the  church,  and  was  also  at  Mass,  ob- 
served me,  and  suspecting  that  the  book  I  was  reading 
was  not  a  proper  one  to  take  to  church,  stopped  me  as 
he  was  going  out  and  asked  to  see  it,  and  finding  what 
it  was,  told  me  that  I  was  not  to  bring  it  again  to  church, 
as  it  was  not  a  book  of  prayers.  More  also  he  added 
that  I  did  not  understand,  especially  when  he  wanted  .to 
explain  to  me  the  verses — 


BOOKS  AT  CHURCH.  17 

"  II  putrido 
Annoso  tronco,  a  cui  s'  appoggia  fraude." 1 

I  obeyed,  however,  and  never  took  this  or  any  of  my 
other  books  to  church ;  and  so  I  learnt  that  books  you 
can  read  at  home  you  cannot  read  in  church.  later 
I  learnt  there  are  others  not  to  be  read  anywhere. 

1    "  The  rotten  knotted  trunk  on  which  fraud  leans." 


iS 


CHAPTER    II. 


WITHOUT  KNOWING  IT,  I  WAS  DOING  WHAT  LEONARDO  ADVISES — NEW  WAY  OF 
DECORATING  THE  WALLS  OF  ONE'S  HOUSE — I  WISH  TO  STUDY  DESIGN  AT 
THE  ACADEMY,  BUT  CANNOT  CARRY  THIS  INTO  EFFECT — A  BOTTLE  OF 
ANISE-SEED  CORDIAL  —  INTELLIGENT  PEOPLE  ARE  BENEVOLENT,  NOT  SO 
THOSE  OF  MEDIOCRE  MINDS — THE  STATUES  IN  THE  PIAZZA  BELLA  SIG- 
NORIA  AND  ALABASTER  FIGURES — THE  DISCOVERY  OF  A  HIDDEN  WELL — 
MY  FATHER  RETURNS  HOME  WITHOUT  WORK,  AND  LEAVES  FOR  ROME — 
YOUNG  SIGNOR  EMILIO  DEL  TABRIS — SEA-BATHS  AND  CHOLERA  AT  LEG- 
HORN—  WITH  HELP  I  SAVE  A  WOMAN  FROM  DROWNING  —  I  GO  TO  SAN 
PIERO  DI  BAGNO — MY  UNCLE  THE  PROVOST  DIES — MY  FATHER  RETURNS 
FROM  ROME,  AND  SETTLES  IN  FLORENCE — MY  WORK,  A  GROUP  OF  A  HOLY 
FAMILY,  IS  STOLEN— DESCRIPTION  OF  THIS  GROUP. 


OW  dear  to  me  is  the  remembrance  of 
those  times !  My  goodwill  and  desire  to 
learn  were  indeed  above  my  very  poor 
condition.  The  difficulties  of  my  profes- 
sion did  not  discourage  me;  on  the  contrary,  I  felt 
a  pleasurable  though  distant  hope  of  surpassing  my 
companions  in  figure-work  that  they  did  so  badly  and 
laboriously.  For  this  purpose,  from  that  time  I  gave 
all  my  efforts  to  the  study  of  the  human  figure.  I 
bought  an  album  and  kept  it  always  with  me,  begged 
my  friends  to  stand  as  models,  and  drew  their  portraits. 
At  first  my  attempts  were  not  happy ;  but  I  was  never 
tired,  and  after  a  time  I  acquired  so  much  freedom  that 
with  a  few  strokes  I  could  make  a  fair  likeness.  I  was 
always  at  work,  and  the  walls  of  our  kitchen  and  dining- 


LONGING   TO  BE  AN  ARTIST.  19 

room  were  all  smudged  over  with  charcoal.  Naturally, 
there  was  no  one  to  scold  me  for  this  unusual  way  of 
adorning  the  walls,  for  the  mother,  poor  dear,  was 
blind,  my  father  was  not  there,  and  as  I  was  the  eldest, 
I  was,  as  it  were,  the  head  of  the  family.  Besides, 
though  my  mother  could  not  see,  she  still  knew  of  this 
strange  practice  of  mine,  and  thought  it  better  for  me 
thus  to  occupy  myself  than  to  be  playing  with  the  boys 
in  the  street. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  many  doubts  and  self- 
questionings  arose  within  me.  I  knew  that  there  was  a 
school  where  one  could  really  learn  to  draw  and  paint 
and  make  statues.  Heavens,  how  delightful  it  would 
be  to  know  how  to  make  statues  !  In  fact,  I  understood 
there  was  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  for  so  I  had  been 
told,  and  some  of  the  fortunate  young  men  who  frequen- 
ted this  Academy  were  my  acquaintances,  and  had  shown 
me  their  designs,  which  seemed  to  me,  as  my  friend 
Dotti  would  say,  most  stupendous!  I  was  no  longer 
happy.  The  Academy  appeared  to  me  in  the  most 
splendid  and  glowing  colours;  it  seemed  to  me  the 
haven,  the  landmark,  the  temple  of  glory,  the  throne  of 
my  golden  dreams. 

I  spoke  of  it  to  my  mother  with  tears  in  my  eyes. 
She  mingled  her  tears  with  mine,  but  not,  perhaps,  so 
much  from  being  persuaded  of  the  necessity  of  such 
studies  as  from  a  desire  to  soothe  me.  She  spoke  about 
it  to  Signor  Sani,  who,  I  shall  always  remember,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  fiercely  on  me,  made  even  more  formidable 
under  his  silver  spectacles,  replied,  that  to  do  all  that 
was  to  be  done  in  his  shop,  it  was  enough  to  remain 
in  the  shop  and  have  the  wish  to  learn  —  of  this  he 
was  certain ;  but  as  to  the  work  in  the  Academy,  he  did 
not  feel  so  sure,  for,  on  the  contrary,  that  would  fill  me 


20  A   FLASK   OF  ANISE-SEED. 

with  desires  and  cravings  that  I  could  not  satisfy,  owing 
to  the  poverty  of  my  family,  even  admitting  that  I  had 
the  disposition  to  enable  me  to  master  these  studies ; 
and  finally,  he  hinted  at  the  danger  there  was  of  my 
being  contaminated  by  my  companions.  My  mother 
did  not  answer  him.  She  said  good-bye  to  me,  and  in 
her  sightless  eyes  I  saw  the  sadness  within.  She  went 
out,  and  I  set  myself  to  work. 

I  resigned  myself,  but  continued  always  to  study  by 
myself.  As  Luigi,  the  master's  eldest  son,  was  studying 
design  at  Professor  Gaspero  Martellini's  school,  which 
was  in  the  Fondacci  di  Santo  Spirito,  he  gave  me  some 
of  his  designs  to  copy.  Not  only  did  Professor  Martel- 
lini  give  him  lessons  in  drawing,  but  also  in  modelling 
in  clay,  and  Sani  was  one  of  the  most  assiduous  of  his 
scholars.  I  remember  to  have  pounded  his  clay  for 
him  many  times,  in  a  room  on  the  ground-floor  in  his 
house  in  Borgo  Sant'  Jacopo.  This  little  room  was 
used  as  a  storehouse  for  all  sorts  of  odds  and  ends,  and 
amongst  these  I  once  found  a  flask  of  anise -seed 
cordial,  that  (to  confess  the  truth)  I  tasted  sometimes. 
One  morning,  having  finished  what  I  had  to  do,  and 
having  gone  up-stairs  to  take  the  key  of  the  room,  one 
of  the  master's  daughters  (he  had  four)  smelt  in  my 
breath  the  odour  of  anise-seed,  and  said  to  me — 

"  Who  has  given  you  anise-seed? " 

"  No  one,"  I  answered. 

"  You  smell  of  anise-seed ;  who  has  given  it  to  you  ? 
Mind,  don't  tell  lies." 

Then  I  told  everything. 

"  I  don't  believe  you.     You  are  a  liar." 

"  No ;  come  and  see." 

"  Certainly  I  wish  to  see." 

She  then  came   down,  and  taking  the  flask  in  her 


A   FLASK   OF   ANISE-SEED.  21 

hand,  looked  at  it,  smelled  it,  and  tasted  it.  Apparently 
she  must  have  drunk  a  little,  for  as  soon  as  she  had  put 
down  the  flask  and  shut  up  the  room,  she  began  to 
totter,  and  could  not  stand  on  her  feet.  With  difficulty 
I  succeeded  in  getting  her  up-stairs,  where,  as  soon  as 
her  mother  saw  her  in  that  state,  there  ensued  a  serious 
scene.  They  all  talked  and  scolded  at  once — the  three 
girls  who  had  not  drank  the  anise-seed,  as  well  as  the 
mamma ;  and  when  I  tried  to  explain  how  the  thing  had 
happened,  I  felt  two  slaps  in  the  face,  which  were  given 
with  such  force  that  I  was  stunned.  My  ideas  became 
so  confused  that  I  was  not  able  to  say  anything.  For- 
tunately the  girl  spoke,  and  said — 

"  Nanni  is  not  at  fault." 

At  these  words  the  mistress  said — 

"  Go  at  once  to  the  shop.  Master  shall  know  every- 
thing this  evening." 

I  did  not  breathe  a  word,  and  even  she  said  nothing 
about  it  to  the  master,  nor  was  I  scolded  by  him,  or  by 
the  Signora  Carolina  (the  mistress).  Some  days  after  I 
returned  to  knead  the  clay,  but  the  flask  of  cordial  had 
disappeared. 

About  this  time  there  was  a  residenza l  to  be  made  in 
the  shop  for  some  church,  where,  in  the  midst  of  the 
clouds  that  supported  the  ostensorio,  were  a  quantity 
of  seraphim.  This  work  was  required  to  be  done  at  once 
without  delay ;  and  as  Bartolommeo  Bianciardi,  who  did 
this  kind  of  work  in  the  shop,  could  not  alone  do  all  that 
was  required  of  him,  I  proposed  to  the  master  to  make 
one  of  the  seraphim  myself,  and  I  succeeded  so  well  that 
he  was  entirely  satisfied.  After  that  I  made  others,  and 
always  better  and  better.  From  that  time,  when  similar 

1  The  throne  on  which  the  monstrance  is  placed  when  exposition 
of  the  sacrament  takes  place. 


22  ARTISTIC  LONGINGS. 

work  came  to  the  shop,  I  was  always  employed  on  it 
together  with  the  other  workman,  and  sometimes  in  pref- 
erence to  him.  In  the  meantime  I  continued  to  make 
progress  in  the  art  of  wood-carving,  and  the  best  and 
most  skilful  workmen  flattered  me  and  helped  me  with 
their  advice,  but  the  others  looked  upon  me  with  an  evil 
eye.  I  could  not  understand  this  difference,  nor  can  I 
understand  it  now;  but  as  I  have  since  met  with  this, 
and  felt  it  always  at  every  time  and  everywhere,  it  must 
be  in  the  natural  order  of  bad  things. 

But  there  was  always  a  thorn  in  my  heart.  The  sera- 
phim were  not  enough  to  satisfy  me,  nor  even  the  large 
masks  and  heads  of  Medusa  with  all  their  serpents.  And 
when  I  passed  through  the  Piazza  della  Signoria  and  saw 
the  David,  the  Perseus,  and  the  Group  of  the  Sabines,  I 
thought  that  by  going  to  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  one 
might  learn  how  to  make  such  works  ! 

Heavens,  how  grand  a  thing  it  would  be  to  be  able 
to  go  to  the  Academy  !  But  it  was  useless  even  to  think 
of  this,  for  my  father  had  declared  himself  opposed  to  it. 
Therefore  peace  be  to  it,  and  let  me  have  patience.  At 
least  those  pretty  little  alabaster  figures  that  are  shown  in 
the  shop  windows  of  Pisani  on  the  Prato,  and  Bazzanti 
on  the  Lung'  Arno,  those  I  should  be  able  to  do  with 
time  and  study  and  a  firm  will.  For  after  all,  it  is  only 
a  question  of  changing  the  material,  of  substituting  ala- 
baster for  wood,  a  seraphim  or  an  angel  for  a  little  Venus 
or  Apollo — there  is  nothing  to  create.  Those  who  make 
these  figures,  also  copy  them  from  others  in  alabaster, 
plaster,  or  bronze,  as  I  do ;  and  even  now  I  invent  my 
little  seraphim,  and  no  longer  look  at  Flammingo's  little 
boys  as  I  did  at  first — I  do  them  from  memory,  making 
them  either  leaner  or  fatter,  or  more  smiling  or  more  sad, 
as  best  I  feel  inclined.  So  I  reasoned  and  persuaded 


A   PRACTICAL  JOKE.  23 

myself  that  in  the  end,  one  day  or  other,  I  also  should 
be  able  to  make  one  of  those  graceful  little  statuettes. 

In  this  way  I  consoled  myself,  and  went  on  with 
courage  and  hopefulness.  Here  some  one  may  say,  this 
artist  in  his  old  age  gives  us  a  picture  of  himself  as  a 
boy  where  there  is  too  much  fancy.  The  portrait  is 
beautiful,  but  is  it  a  likeness?  Has  not  the  love  of 
beauty  seduced  him  ?  What  is  the  truth  ?  Who  ever 
saw  a  boy  who  was  always  obedient,  studious,  patient, 
constant,  &c.  &c.  ? 

Slowly,  my  good  sirs — slowly ;  have  a  little  patience. 
Some  scrapes  even  I  have  got  into,  and  for  the  love  of 
truth  I  must  not  pass  them  by  in  silence.  But  every- 
thing has  its  place,  and  here,  for  instance,  is  the  place 
for  one  of  these  scrapes.  In  the  shop  where  I  was 
employed,  close  to  my  bench  there  was  a  great  plaster 
pillar  rising  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling.  Neither 
I  nor  any  one  had  ever  thought  or  inquired  for  what 
purpose  it  had  been  made.  In  this  pillar  was  a  sort  of 
little  niche,  into  which  was  walled  up  a  phial  of  oil  kept 
for  sharpening  our  tools.  Now  it  happened  that  this 
phial  got  broken,  and  in  consequence  it  became  neces- 
sary to  knock  down  the  rest  of  the  little  niche  in  order  to 
put  in  a  new  one ;  but  in  performing  this  operation,  I 
perceived  that  the  wall  was  thin  under  the  hammer,  as  if 
it  were  hollow,  so  I  began  to  think  what  this  could 
mean.  The  others  also  wondered,  and  some  said  one 
thing,  and  some  said  another.  In  the  meantime,  as  I 
continued  to  hammer  on  the  wall  in  the  interior  of  the 
niche,  a  brick  fell  down,  the  wall  gave  way,  and  we 
looked  into  a  hollow  space.  Taking  a  stick  to  measure 
the  depth,  we  found  it  was  considerable ;  but  we  could 
not  understand  what  the  meaning  of  this  could  be.  I 
have  already  said,  in  the  beginning  of  these  memoirs, 


24  THE   "SOULS   OF  PURGATORY." 

that  our  shop  was  under  the  Piatti  printing-office — and 
so  it  is,  for  the  printing-office  is  on  the  first  floor  over  it ; 
but  the  building  is  very  high,  and  above  that  floor  are 
others  occupied  by  lodgers.  Suddenly,  as  we  stood  still, 
perplexed  and  wondering  what  could  be  the  use  of  this 
hollow  pillar,  I,  being  nearest  the  spot,  heard  a  noise 
within  like  a  rustling  or  rubbing  of  something  which  we 
could  not  explain. 

For  a  while  I  stood  still,  thinking,  when  suddenly  I 
guessed  what  it  was,  and  said  to  my  companions — 

"  In  a  moment,  if  I  succeed,  you  will  witness  a  scene 
that  will  make  you  laugh." 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  will  see."  Taking  a  long  piece  of  beaten  iron 
wire,  I  bent  it  into  the  form  of  a  mark  of  interrogation, 
and  fastening  the  straight  end  of  it  firmly  to  a  bit  of  wood, 
when  I  heard  the  noise  again  I  thrust  it  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  hole,  and  again  and  again  tried  if  I  could 
catch  hold  of  anything  within.  At  last,  when  I  thought 
I  had  grappled  hold  of  something,  I  pulled  it  up,  and 
found  it  to  be  a  rope.  As  soon  as  the  rope  was  caught, 
we  heard  several  voices  scolding,  calling,  and  disputing — 
amongst  others,  a  woman's  voice  shouting,  "No,  I  tell 
you  there  are  no  other  lodgers ;  pull  away,  the  bucket 
must  have  got  into  some  hole."  Then  the  poor  woman 
pulled,  and  every  time  she  pulled  I  gave  a  loud  groan. 
At  last,  apparently  the  woman's  strength  failed,  the  mis- 
tress herself  or  some  one  else  pulled  at  it,  for  I  could 
feel  she  had  no  more  strength  to  pull,  and  then  cried 
out  with  an  impertinent  voice,  wtorthy  of  greater  success, 
"Who  is  there?"  "  The  souls  of  purgatory,"  I  shouted 
out  lugubriously,  and  instantly  felt  the  rope  fall  down. 

To  say  the  truth,  I  was  then  a  little  alarmed  through 
fear  of  being  discovered,  so  I  pushed  forward  the  iron 


MY   FATHER  GOES   TO   ROME.  25 

hook,  and  the  rope  fell,  bucket  and  all,  into  the  well. 
My  companions  laughed  at  the  scene,  but  I  did  not ;  and 
thinking  the  joke  might  be  found  out,  I  hastened  to  close 
up  again  the  hole  with  a  brick,  set  the  little  bottle  of 
oil  into  it,  restore  the  niche  as  it  was,  smudge  it  over 
well  that  it  might  appear  old  and  as  if  it  had  never  been 
touched,  sweep  away  all  traces  of  the  plaster  that  had  been 
used,  straighten  out  the  instrument  I  had  used,  and  apply 
myself  to  my  work  in  serious  rather  than  hilarious  mood. 

About  this  time  my  father,  failing  to  get  work,  came 
to  Florence,  hoping  to  find  something  to  do;  but  his 
hopes  proved  vain.  He  stayed  there  a  little  while,  but 
at  last  determined  to  go  away,  and  this  time  for  a  more 
distant  place.  My  mother  and  all  of  us  tried  to  dissuade 
him,  telling  him  to  have  patience,  that  some  way  would 
be  found,  that  we  would  do  all  we  could  to  help,  and 
although  we  were  very  poor,  still  we  should  all  be  to- 
gether. But  it  seemed  to  him  that  we  could  not  get  on 
in  this  way,  and  accordingly  he  left  for  Rome.  So  long 
as  he  was  at  Siena  and  wrote  to  us,  and  sometimes  sent 
us  a  few  sous,  it  was  not  so  bad,  and  we  were  accus- 
tomed to  it ;  but  now,  who  could  say  how  we  should  get 
on  ?  So  far  away,  without  any  one  to  help  him,  without 
acquaintances,  and  with  so  imperious  a  character,  what 
would  become  of  him  ?  Fortunately,  however,  he  found 
employment,  and  he  wrote  that  he  was  well,  and  hoped  in 
a  short  time  to  be  able  to  send  us  something.  God 
knows  there  was  need  of  it. 

Meanwhile  I  had  become  tolerably  skilful.  I  was  no 
longer  a  boy ;  I  earned  about  three  pauls  a-day,  and 
nearly  all  this  I  gave  to  my  mother,  reserving  for  myself 
only  a  few  sous  to  buy  paper,  pencils,  and  books.  Be- 
yond these  things  I  wanted  nothing,  for  my  mother  took 
care  to  keep  me  cleanly  and  decently  dressed. 


26  DISCONTENT. 

As  my  face,  my  way  of  speaking,  and  my  manners  were 
not  vulgar,  many  of  the  customers  who  came  to  our  shop 
took  me  for  the  son  of  the  principal  instead  of  an  ap- 
prentice. They  readily  addressed  themselves  to  me ;  I 
took  their  messages,  and  sometimes  their  orders  for  the 
work,  and  the  older  and  more  skilful  workmen  showed 
no  ill-feeling  about  it.  Amongst  other  customers  who 
had  a  liking  for  me,  I  remember  Signor  Emilio  de  Fabris, 
who  at  that  time  was  the  head  workman  in  Baccani's 
studio.  He  used  to  come  to  direct  and  urge  on  the 
work.  He  used  to  talk  with  me,  and  to  make  his  obser- 
vations on  the  work ;  and  as  he  even  then  had  an  easy 
and  graceful  way  of  talking,  I  listened  to  him  with  atten- 
tion. He  was  a  thin,  tall,  refined  young  man,  admirably 
educated,  and  courteous  in  his  manners.  To-day  he  is 
one  of  the  most  famous  masters  of  architecture,  President 
of  our  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  and  my  good  friend. 

But  although  I  had  many  reasons  for  being  contented, 
— for  at  home,  thanks  to  the  small  wages  of  my  brother 
Lorenzo,  the  few  sous  that  came  from  Rome,  and  the 
earnings,  meagre  though  they  were,  of  my  mother,  we 
were  able,  by  putting  all  together,  to  live  tolerably  though 
poorly,  and  in  the  shop  I  was  liked  and  esteemed  by  my 
master,  by  the  men,  by  all, — still  I  was  not  contented. 
I  felt  there  was  a  void,  a  feeling  of  uneasiness,  and  a 
melancholy  that  I  could  neither  explain  to  myself,  nor 
could  others  explain  to  me  except  by  jestingly  calling 
me  "  the  poet." 

And  this  was  the  truth,  for  the  poet  is  eminently  a 
dreamer  whose  dreams  are  more  joyous  and  smiling  than 
any  reality,  and  I  dreamed — yes,  but  not  of  a  smiling 
future  when  I  should  be  rich  and  famous,  but  of  any  sort 
of  way  by  which  I  could  find  vent  for  that  inward  longing 
to  distinguish  myself  above  others,  and  to  distinguish 


CHOLERA  AT  LEGHORN.       .  27 

myself  especially  in  figure-work,  though  it  should  be  only 
in  wood ;  but  it  was  not  possible  for  me  to  satisfy  this 
longing  in  the  shop.  Here  I  was  obliged  to  work  at  all 
sorts  of  things — chandeliers,  frames,  mask-heads,  every- 
thing ;  and  I  not  only  felt  unhappy,  but  was  unhappy, 
and  my  health  began  to  fail.  I  was  advised  to  take  sea- 
baths;  but  in  Leghorn  the  cholera  was  raging,  and  it  would 
have  been  imprudent  to  go  there,  and  so  another  year 
passed  in  the  midst  of  desires  and  hopes  and  fears  and 
ill-health.  But  at  last  I  went  to  the  baths.  I  had  scarcely 
arrived  there,  however,  when  that  terrible  disease  reap- 
peared and  raged  furiously  :  the  inhabitants  and  strangers 
hastened  to  fly  from  it ;  all  business  was  suspended ; 
movement  and  gaiety  almost  entirely  disappeared ;  the 
shops  were  shut ;  and  in  a  short  time  Leghorn  became 
deserted,  sad,  and  oppressed  with  fear. 

My  mother  wrote  to  me  from  Florence  urging  my  im- 
mediate return ;  but  I — I  know  not  why — felt  myself,  as 
it  were,  riveted  to  Leghorn.  It  may  have  been  perhaps 
on  account  of  the  effect  of  the  sea  air,  the  novelty  of  the 
life,  and  the  excitement  produced  in  me  by  the  danger  to 
which  my  life  was  exposed,  which  I  not  only  did  not  fear, 
but  even  felt  strong  enough  almost  to  challenge,  and 
more  than  all,  the  notable  improvement  that  I  daily  felt 
in  my  health,  which  decided  me  to  remain.  I  had  found 
some  friends  even  gayer  and  more  thoughtless  than 
myself.  We  went  to  the  fish-market  and  bought  the  best 
fish  for  almost  nothing — fresh  red  mullet  for  two  or  three 
soldi  a  pound — for  there  were  no  purchasers.  It  was 
generally  believed  that  the  disease  came  from  the  sea, 
and  was  brought  on  by  eating  fish;  but  we  ate  and  drank 
and  smoked  merrily. 

In  a  few  days  I  recovered  my  health,  got  a  good 
colour,  gained  strength,  and  melancholy  went  to  the 


28  AMUSEMENTS — CACCIUCCO. 

devil.  I  also  found  some  work  to  do.  The  few  soldi 
that  I  had  brought  with  me  rapidly  disappeared.  I 
worked  but  little,  only  doing  so  much  day  by  day  as 
would  enable  me  to  live  merrily.  By  one  o'clock  my 
day  of  work  was  over,  and  then  began  that  of  amusement 
— which  consisted  of  dinner,  walks  in  the  country  some- 
times as  far  as  Montenero,  towards  evening  a  good  swim 
in  the  sea,  then  to  the  cafe,  and  late  to  bed.  Leading 
as  I  did  this  happy  life,  one  can  readily  imagine  that 
my  letters  home  breathed  trust,  courage,  and  tranquillity 
of  spirit,  so  that  my  mother,  although  she  never  ceased 
to  beg  me  to  return,  did  so  in  less  pressing  terms  and 
with  gentler  expressions. 

One  day  when  I  had  gone  with  my  friends  on  board 
one  of  those  small  vessels  which  are  stationed  at  the 
"  Anelli,"  and  while  we  were  eating  a  dish  of  fresh  fish 
called  cacciucco,  which  the  sailors  excel  in  making,  a 
woman  who  was  walking  by  the  shore  fell  or  threw  her- 
self into  the  sea.  For  a  short  time  she  floated,  sus- 
tained by  her  clothes,  which  puffed  up  into  a  sort  of 
bell ;  then  she  began  to  waver  to  and  fro,  and  down 
she  went.  We  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  about 
us  to  see  if  any  of  the  sailors  on  the  neighbouring  ships 
had  seen  the  woman  and  were  moving  to  the  rescue,  and 
those  on  board  our  boat  only  shrugged  their  shoulders 
as  if  she  were  a  dog. 

"  Down  with  you  !  throw  yourself  in  !  you  know  how 
to  swim ! " 

"I,  of  course ;  but  don't  you  swim  better  than  I  ?  " 

"  I !  no ;  but  yes " 

And  at  this  one  of  us,  a  fellow  nicknamed  Braccio  di 
Ferro — I  don't  remember  his  real  name — taking  off 
jacket  and  boots,  shouted  out,  "  Hold  your  tongues, 
cowards !"  and  plunged  in  head  first  with  his  hands  above 


I   SAVE  A  DROWNING  WOMAN.  29 

his  head.  At  the  word  cowards,  made  even  more  telling 
by  the  brave  act  of  the  man,  I  felt  my  face  suffused  with 
shame ;  and  although  I  was  not  such  an  expert  swimmer 
as  Braccio  di  Ferro,  I  also  took  off  my  jacket  and  shoes, 
and  gathering  my  loins  tightly  together,  with  my  hands 
under  my  feet,  jumped  in.  Under  water  one  could  see 
quite  as  clearly  as  above,  for  the  rays  of  the  sun  penetrated 
obliquely  and  lighted  up  all  the  space  about  me.  I  saw 
my  friend  diving  down  to  touch  bottom,  which  meant 
that  he  had  seen  that  poor  woman,  but  I  had  to  come 
up  to  the  surface  to  take  breath.  As  soon  as  I  had  done 
so  once  or  twice,  I  made  a  somersault,  and  away  I  went, 
striking  out  with  my  hands  in  the  water.  My  friend, 
however,  had  found  the  woman,  and  had  seized  hold  of 
her  by  her  foot.  Swimming  around,  I  caught  hold  of 
her  skirts, — and  just  in  time ;  for  poor  Braccio  di  Ferro 
was  blown,  and  who  knows  how  much  water  he  would 
have  drunk  if  I  had  not  come.  Leaving  the  woman  to 
me,  he  made  a  curve  in  the  water,  and  went  to  the  surface 
to  breathe,  plunging  his  head  under  again  to  look  after 
us.  The  two  boats  that  had  come  to  get  the  poor  woman 
were  ready.  Braccio  di  Ferro  mounted  into  one  to  help 
me  pull  her  in.  With  one  hand  I  caught  hold  of  the 
boat,  and  with  the  other  I  clung  on  to  the  woman's  dress, 
who  was  at  once  dragged  out,  placed  on  her  face  that  she 
might  throw  up  the  water  she  had  swallowed,  taken  to 
land,  and  escorted  to  her  house,  which  was  not  far  off. 
We  mounted  upon  our  vessel  amidst  the  applause  of  the 
people  and  of  our  friends  who  were  waiting  for  us ;  they 
took  off  some  of  their  clothes  to  cover  us  as  best  they 
could,  and  we  hung  ours  out  to  dry  on  one  of  the  cords 
of  the  ship.  We  drank  some  pipiona  wine,  finished  our 
repast,  and  each  of  us  returned  home. 

I  remained  about  a  month  longer  in  Leghorn ;  and  if  it 


30  A   DROP   TOO   MUCH. 

had  not  been  for  my  mother,  who  pressed  me  to  return, 
I  should  have  stayed  who  knows  how  long.  I  found 
also  something  to  do  which  was  to  my  taste;  I  made 
three  heads  of  Medusa  to  ornament  the  panels  of  a 
chemist's  bench.  It  was  a  new  chemist's  shop  that  was 
to  be  opened  in  those  days.  Who  knows  what  they  have 
done  with  those  poor  heads  of  mine  ! 

I  have  just  said  that  when  we  returned  to  the  ship 
after  having  got  hold  of  the  woman  who  was  drowning, 
we  drank  some  pipiona  wine;  and  now  I  must  stop 
and  put  others  who  may  intend  to  drink  of  this  pipiona 
on  their  guard.  It  is  wretched  wine,  or  perhaps  we 
drank  a  drop  too  much,  for  we,  who  might  have  had  the 
medal  awarded  to  courage,  went  home  almost  drunk. 
And  whereas  an  hour  before  we  had  been  honoured  and 
applauded,  on  our  return  we  ran  the  risk  of  being 
scorned.  So  it  is ;  a  drop  of  wine  too  much  may  serve 
one  such  a  turn  that  I,  as  a  good  Christian,  warn  my 
equals,  and  especially  inexperienced  young  men  who 
find  themselves  in  the  company  of  merry  companions, 
against  it. 

I  returned  to  Florence,  and  never  heard  anything  more 
of  my  Livornese  friends.  Part  of  them  were  in  Magag- 
nini's  shop,  who  was  then  a  cabinet-maker,  and  is  now 
a  much  -  esteemed  architect.  Others  —  and  amongst 
these  Braccio  di  Ferro — were  with  Ricciardelli,  cabinet- 
maker in  Via  dell'  Angiolo.  I  returned  home,  therefore, 
and  found  the  mother  always  dear  and  loving,  who 
clasped  me  in  her  arms.  The  day  following,  I  went 
back  to  the  shop  so  brisk  and  well  that  the  principal  and 
all  the  men  were  rejoiced. 

About  this  time  my  uncle,  on  my  father's  side,  Atana- 
sio  Dupre,  provost  at  San  Piero  di  Bagno,  died.  They 
wrote  to  us  from  there  to  bring  my  father  to  take  posses- 


ATANASIO  DUPRE'S   DEATH.  31 

sion  of  the  inheritance  of  his  brother  ;  and  as  he  was  in 
Rome,  by  my  mother's  advice  I  left  at  once  for  Bagno. 
According  to  my  habit,  and  also  to  save  a  few  soldi,  I 
left  towards  evening  on  foot,  and  walked  all  night.  It 
was  winter,  beautiful  weather,  cold,  and  with  clear 
moonlight.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  I  met  no  one, 
and  only  towards  daybreak  some  few  carts  passed  me 
near  Borgo  alia  Collina  and  Bibbiena,  where  I  stopped 
at  the  inn,  as  I  could  not  go  on  any  farther,  having  come 
thirty-six  miles  without  halting.  I  rested  there  some 
hours ;  but  in  order  to  pursue  my  journey,  I  hired  a 
mount  and  guide,  because  it  was  necessary  to  go  along 
the  dry  river-bed  of  the  Corsalone  for  some  miles,  and 
cross  it  several  times.  Through  this  plain,  which  was 
flooded  over  at  times,  the  river  ordinarily  kept  to  a 
narrow  tortuous  channel,  which,  seen  from  the  heights  of 
Bibbiena,  produced  a  wonderful  effect.  It  looked  like  an 
enormous  serpent  with  golden  scales  when  lighted  up  by 
the  rays  of  the  sun.  Having  gone  over  this  strange  and 
fatiguing  road,  leaving  to  the  right  La  Vernia,  abode  and 
sanctuary  of  the  "  poor  one  "  of  Assisi,  I  mounted  the 
Apennines,  and  descended  again,  arriving  towards  even- 
ing at  San  Piero  di  Bagno.  I  went  at  once  to  my  poor 
uncle's  residence,  where  I  found  a  woman  and  some  priests, 
who  showed  me  our  inheritance.  It  was  little  enough,  to 
speak  truly — some  modest  furniture,  a  little  linen,  and  a 
little  money.  What  was  really  of  value  was  the  library ;  but 
this  he  had  left  to  the  Eremo  of  Camaldoli,  from  whence 
it  originally  came,  as,  at  the  time  of  the  suppression  of 
convents,  he  had  taken  it  to  save  it  from  the  thieving 
hands  of  the  governors  and  partisans  of  Napoleon  I. 

In  order  to  understand  how  my  uncle  was  able  to 
save  a  great  part  of  the  books  and  precious  manuscripts 
belonging  to  the  library  at  Camaldoli,  it  is  enough  to 


32  A   GROUP   OF   THE   HOLY   FAMILY. 

know  that  he  was  one  of  the  fathers  of  that  hermitage, 
and  when  at  the  suppression  they  were  all  expelled,  my 
uncle  became  a  priest,  and  was  made  provost  of  San 
Piero  di  Bagno,  where  he  remained  until  his  death. 

My  father  hastened  at  once  to  Florence,  where  I  found 
him  at  home,  after  I  had  stopped  a  few  days  at  San 
Piero.  He  went  there  and  took  possession  of  those  few 
things,  and  afterwards  returned  to  Florence,  and  from 
that  time  forward  never  left  it.  He  opened  a  little  shop 
himself,  and  I  used  to  help  him  in  spare  moments  with 
certain  kinds  of  work  that  he  was  unable  to  do, — such 
as  little  figures,  animals,  and  other  things.  It  is  a  great 
comfort  to  me  to  remember  those  days.  I  had  the  will 
and  the  ability  to  help  my  father  to  do  work  that  was 
appreciated  and  liked  as  if  it  were  really  his,  and  so 
increase  his  reputation  and  obtain  his  affection.  It 
happened  once,  however,  that  a  most  miserable  man  took 
advantage  of  my  father's  good  faith  about  a  piece  of  work 
that  had  cost  me  not  a  little  time  and  study.  This  was 
what  occurred : — 

One  day  a  man  presented  himself  to  my  father,  and 
said  that  he  had  a  commission  to  have  a  group  made  in 
wood  of  not  very  large  dimensions,  that  should  represent 
the  Sacred  Family — the  Virgin  Mary,  St  Joseph,  the 
Infant  Jesus,  and  St  John — and  that  it  had  come  into 
his  head  to  come  to  him,  whom  he  knew  to  be  so  clever 
at  figure-work.  My  father  tried  in  some  way  to  excuse 
himself,  feeling  that  the  work  would  be  a  long  one,  and 
not  wishing  to  take  too  much  advantage  of  my  hours  of 
rest  and  study.  But  there  was  no  way  of  avoiding  it,  and 
he  had  to  yield  and  take  the  order  for  this  work,  with- 
out even  speaking  of  the  price,  "for"  (so  said  this  man) 
"  the  person  who  gives  the  order  is  both  intelligent  and 
rich,  and  will  not  question  the  price."  Having  pledged 


THE   GROUP  IS   STOLEN.  33 

himself  in  this  way,  he  spoke  to  me  about  it,  and  said, 
"  Here  is  a  fine  opportunity.  It  is  true  you  will  have  to 
work  hard,  but  you  will  be  recompensed.  The  money 
for  this  will  belong  entirely  to  you,  as  I  can  do  abso- 
lutely nothing  on  it."  I  said  yes,  to  satisfy  him ;  but  in 
reality  I  intended  to  leave  the  gain  to  him,  only  taking 
something  not  to  humiliate  him. 

The  work  was  begun :  I  made  a  little  model  in  clay, 
gave  it  a  great  deal  of  study,  and  took  much  interest  in 
it.  I  got  on  with  it  very  well,  but  slowly,  as  is  natural ; 
and  the  man  in  question  came  almost  every  week  to  see 
it  and  hurry  on  the  work,  saying  the  person  who  had 
given  the  commission  was  most  desirous  of  seeing  it,  and 
that  we  must  let  him  know  when  it  would  be  in  a 
condition  to  be  seen, — in  brief,  when  the  little  group 
would  be  nearly  finished.  To  say  the  truth,  it  was 
entirely  finished;  but  as  then  a  doubt  came  up  as  to 
whether,  in  order  to  finish  it  entirely,  it  would  be 
well  to  put  the  lamb  at  St  John's  feet,  and  as  he 
would  not  decide  upon  so  important  a  matter,  he 
proposed  to  my  father — I  was  not  present — to  show  it 
to  the  person  who  had  commissioned  it  at  his  house,  as 
he  could  not  come  to  see  it  at  the  shop ;  and  he  also 
congratulated  my  father  on  his  work,  which  he  felt 
sure  was  most  praiseworthy.  "  The  house  is  not  far  off 
— a  mere  step  or  two  for  me  there  and  back — and  so  the 
question  about  the  lamb  will  be  decided."  So  saying, 
he  took  the  little  group,  wrapped  it  up  in  a  handkerchief, 
and  begging  my  father  not  to  move  from  the  shop,  that 
on  his  return  he  might  not  be  kept  outside  waiting  with 
the  group,  he  went  away,  and  never  more  was  seen. 

I  need  not  say  how  my  father  felt :  as  for  me,  for  more 
than  a  year  my  fixed  idea  was,  could  I  but  only  meet 
the  man  who  had  robbed  me  !  I  looked  for  him  in  the 

c 


34  DESCRIPTION   OF  THE  GROUP. 

streets,  in  the  market-places,  in  the  churches — yes,  even 
in  the  churches.  For  had  he  not  stolen  a  Holy  Family 
from  me  ?  He  might  also  steal  a  lamp  or  a  candle  hung 
before  some  image.  The  ardent  desire  I  felt  to  find  the 
thief,  was  not  to  put  him  into  the  hands  of  justice — for, 
more  than  the  actual  loss  of  the  money,  I  felt  roused  by 
the  insult  and  mockery  of  it.  I  wanted  to  teach  him 
what  a  lamb  was  !  I !  yes  indeed ;  for  although  I  was 
young  then,  I  was  not  at  all  weak,  and  there  was  more 
than  enough  strength  in  me  to  break  his  nose  and  give 
him  a  black  eye.  I  foresaw  all  the  consequences,  even 
to  my  imprisonment,  which  would  undoubtedly  have  fol- 
lowed, for  I  was  fully  aware  that  one  cannot  administer 
justice  on  one's  own  account.  It  did  not  matter  to  me ; 
I  felt  I  must  break  his  nose  with  my  own  fists !  As 
these  were  my  thoughts  then,  I  am  obliged  to  narrate 
them  as  they  are,  though  God  forgive  me !  All  this, 
however,  was  useless,  for  I  never  saw  him  again. 

As  wood  is  not  wax,  this  group  must  be  somewhere 
now,  and  will  last  for  some  time  to  come ;  so  I  leave  the 
description  of  it,  that  he  who  is  the  present  owner  may 
know  that  its  first  possessor  was  a  thief. 

The  little  group  is  a  little  more  than  a  palm  in  height ; 
it  is  of  linden  wood,  and  is  composed  of  four  figures  in 
high  relief.  The  Madonna  is  seated,  with  the  infant 
Jesus  in  her  arms,  who,  with  both  His  arms  around  the 
Virgin's  neck,  is  in  the  act  of  reaching  up  to  kiss  her,  and 
she  presses  Him  to  her  bosom  with  one  hand,  whilst  the 
other  hangs  down  on  her  left  side.  St  Joseph  is  bent 
forward  and  kneeling,  with  an  expression  of  love  and 
adoration ;  and  little  St  John,  also  on  his  knees,  be- 
hind the  Virgin,  is  pulling  aside  her  mantle  that  he  may 
see  this  touching  scene.  St  Joseph  is  at  the  right  and 
St  John  on  the  left  of  the  Virgin. 


35 


CHAPTER    III. 


A  PUNISHMENT  WELL  DESERVED,  AND  MY  SATISFACTION— DIFFERENT  TIMES, 
DIFFERENT  CUSTOMS — THE  USE  OF  THE  BIRCH  GIVEN  UP  IN  SCHOOLS— A 
PORTRAIT— COMPANIONS  AND  BAD  HABITS — HOW  I  BECAME  ACQUAINTED 
WITH  MY  DEAR  MARINA— MY  FIRST  TIME  OF  SPEAKING  WITH  HER— DIF- 
FICULTY TO  OBTAIN  MY  MOTHER'S  CONSENT  TO  OUR  MARRIAGE  —  SHE 
MAKES  TROUBLE,  THINKING  TO  DO  WELL— I  AM  SENT  AWAY  FROM  MY 
BETROTHED,  AND  RETURN  TO  BAD  HABITS — AN  ESCAPADE — THE  PUBLIC 
BATHS  OF  VAGA-LOGGIA — MY  CLOTHES  STOLEN. 


ERHAPS  some  one  may  think,  "  How  is  it 
that,  after  so  many  years,  you  have  been  able 
to  remember  the  composition  of  your  work?" 
To  say  the  truth,  even  I  am  surprised ;  but  it 
must  be  taken  into  consideration  that,  besides  being 
gifted  with  a  most  tenacious  memory,  the  first  efforts  of 
the  mind  remain  more  firmly  engraved  thereon,  being 
produced  by  the  workings  of  one's  whole  soul.  So  it  is 
with  one's  affections  and  one's  hopes.  Add,  therefore,  to 
this,  the  brutality  of  the  offence,  and  it  will  be  seen  that 
I  could  not  forget  it  in  any  way. 

In  the  meantime,  in  Sani's  shop  I  had  made  for  myself 
an  almost  enviable  position.  All  the  works  of  a  certain 
importance  were  given  to  me.  The  principal  placed  entire 
confidence  in  my  judgment  and  skill — so  much  so,  that 
he  put  me  at  the  head  of  the  young  men  in  the  shop, 
and  delegated  to  me  the  direction  of  the  great  works 
that  were  being  executed  at  that  time  for  the  approaching 


36  BRAGGING   AND   BIRCHING. 

nuptials  of  the  Grand  Duke  Leopold  II.  with  the  Prinr 
cess  Antoinetta  of  Naples.  I  had  even  the  satisfaction 
of  directing  a  certain  Saladini,  a  young  Sienese  who  had 
come  to  help  us,  and  whom  I  had  known  at  Siena  at  the 
Academy  of  Fine  Arts.  There  we  had  been  companions 
and  fellow-students,  sharing  the  same  desk ;  but  to  say 
the  truth,  he  drew  better  than  I  did,  which  irritated  me, 
and  one  day  we  came  to  words,  and  I  said  boastfully  that 
I  defied  him  to  draw  with  me,  and  could  easily  beat  him. 

It  appears  that  the  master  heard  loud  words,  and  from 
the  glass  bull's-eye  in  the  door  of  the  room  from  which 
he  dominated  the  whole  school,  he  saw  me  standing  by 
the  desk  with  one  leg  in  the  air,  my  arm  passed  under 
my  thigh,  making  a  drawing  of  a  Corinthian  capital.  I 
could  not  see  the  master,  as  my  back  was  turned  to  him ; 
neither  did  I  perceive  how  silent  the  school  was,  nor  the 
singular  attention  my  rival  was  devoting  to  his  work. 

The  reason  of  it  all,  however,  I  soon  discovered,  or 
rather  felt,  from  a  sharp  switch  on  my  back,  and  before 
I  could  put  my  leg  down,  three  or  four  good  blows,  ac- 
companied with  these  words,  "And  this  is  the  prize  for 
those  who  are  skilful  in  drawing  from  under  their  legs." 
These  words  were  accompanied  by  the  general  ill-re- 
pressed hilarity  of  the  school,  and  especially  of  my  rival 
Saladini.  I  confess  the  blows,  and  even  the  laughter  of 
my  companions  which  made  them  more  stinging,  were 
well  merited ;  but  I  remember  that  I  took  it  in  bad  part, 
especially  as  my  friend  Saladini,  who  certainly  had  seen 
the  master,  had  not  warned  me,  as  I  felt  I  should  have 
done  in  his  place.  For  this  reason  I  rejoiced  when  he 
came  to  Florence  to  work  in  our  shop,  and  was  put  by 
the  principal  under  my  direction,  when  I  could  and  was 
obliged  to  correct  him  and  say,  "  No,  it  is  not  right  in 
this  way;  you  must  do  so  and  so."  I  must  add,  how- 


THE   BIRCH   AT   SCHOOL.  37 

ever,  that  I  did  not  make  any  abuse  of  my  power,  that 
Saladini  had  no  reason  to  complain,  and  that  we  became 
good  friends. 

It  now  occurs  to  me  to  make  an  observation.  I  had 
a  switching,  therefore  the  "  birch  "  existed  in  our  schools. 
The  master  could  administer  it  and  the  scholar  receive  it 
coram  populo  officially,  according  to  the  natural  order  of 
things,  as  a  legitimate  correction ;  but  I  ask,  if  to-day  a 
master  in  our  Academy,  or  in  fact  in  any  academy  in 
Italy,  gave  four  blows  on  the  back  of  a  young  man,  be 
his  fault  even  much  greater  than  mine,  what  would  happen? 
The  heavens  would  fall ;  there  would  be  a  revolution  in 
the  school  and  shouts  without,  and  a  scandal  for  the 
master.  The  ill-advised  master  would  be  reprimanded 
by  the  head-master ;  a  report  made  to  the  Minister  ot 
Public  Instruction  ;  the  master  dismissed  altogether  or 
sent  elsewhere ;  and  perhaps  even,  if  the  Ministry  be 
Progressista,  all  would  lose  their  places. 

So  it  is.  "  O  tempora  !  O  mores  !  "  But  is  it,  after  all,  a 
bad  thing  to  administer  a  good  whipping  to  a  rascal  who, 
instead  of  studying  himself,  annoys  those  who  are  really 
working,  instigates  them  to  leave  school,  and  leads  them 
to  do  wrong  by  using  bad  and  obscene  words,  swearing, 
and  drawing  and  writing  improper  things  on  the  Academy 
walls?  They  can  be  sent  away  from  school,  but  they 
must  not  be  beaten,  is  the  answer.  But  the  fact  is,  that 
though  they  ought  to  be  sent  away,  they  are  always  al- 
lowed to  remain.  Would  it  not,  therefore,  be  better  to 
administer  a  little  corporal  punishment  with  the  "  birch  " 
before  arriving  at  this  finale  ?  Where  is  the  harm  of  it  ? 
I  have  had  it  myself,  and  at  fifty  years  of  age  am  well 
and  strong.  But  enough  of  this. 

The  good  Saladini,  therefore,  was  placed  under  me. 
He  endured  and  even  appeared  to  enjoy  my  corrections. 


38  SALADINI — BAD   COMPANIONS. 

In  fact,  he  had  a  character  and  temperament  that  pre- 
vented his  feeling  anything.  He  was  a  young  fellow 
about  eighteen  or  nineteen,  older  than  I  was,  small,  fat, 
with  good  colouring,  chestnut  hair,  and  light  eyes  which 
never  grew  animated  and  moved  slowly,  seeing  little  and 
being  surprised  at  nothing.  He  never  got  angry,  and 
laughed  in  the  same  way  when  he  heard  of  an  accident 
as  when  he  heard  a  joke.  It  was  not  that  he  was  stupid, 
for  his  words,  though  few,  were  not  devoid  of  sense.  He 
ate  more  than  I  did,  and  drank  more  too,  and  retired  to 
bed  early,  being  an  enemy  of  walks,  of  discussions,  and 
merrymaking  even  of  the  most  discreet  and  proper  kind. 
He  lived  but  a  short  time,  and  died  as  soon  as  he  re- 
turned to  Siena,  I  don't  know  of  what  malady.  Not  of 
disease  of  the  heart,  however;  for  although  his  heart  was 
not  bad,  yet  it  seemed  a  useless  part  of  him,  never  beat- 
ing with  any  feeling  of  emotion  or  passion  :  there  it  was, 
quite  stock-still,  seeming  even  dead,  like  the  hearts  of 
stoics  or  stupid  people,  which  are  about  the  same  thing. 
Those,  however,  who  have  the  misfortune  to  be  made  in 
this  way,  live  a  long  time,  eat  much,  drink  much,  and 
sleep — above  all  things  sleep — profoundly  ;  and  so  did 
he,  though  only  for  a  short  time,  because  he  died.  It 
was  better  so,  for  who  knows  whether  his  heart  would 
not  have  waked  up  some  day,  repented  the  time  lost 
in  sleeping,  and  quickened  its  beat?  Therefore  it  was 
better  so.  May  the  earth  weigh  lightly  on  you,  my 
friend,  and  the  peace  of  the  Lord  rejoice  your  spirit ! 
By  this  time  I  had  grown  to  be  a  young  man  beloved 
by  my  friends,  who  were  not  many,  and  not  all  of  them 
excellent.  Some  were  a  little  too  full  of  life,  like  myself, 
and  these  gay  young  fellows  used  sometimes  to  drag  me 
to  places  where  young  men  of  good  repute  should  never 
go — I  mean  to  osterias  and  billiard-rooms.  In  such  places 


J   FIRST   SEE   MY  WIFE.  39 

there  is  loss  of  time,  loss  of  health,  and  loss  of  morals. 
Vaguely  I  felt,  even  then,  the  impropriety  of  such  places, 
and  an  internal  sense  of  dissatisfaction  warned  me  to 
break  off  from  these  habits  and  to  avoid  these  friends-. 
Indeed  at  home  I  was  no  longer  like  the  same  person. 
I  was  restless,  intolerant,  despising  the  naturally  frugal 
meals  of  the  family;  and  my  mother,  my  poor  mother, 
suffered  for  this,  but  my  father  was  angry,  and  sometimes 
with  loving  words  and  sometimes  with  severe  ones  he 
reproached  me  for  my  crabbedness  and  caprices,  and 
I  then  felt  sincere  regret,  and  my  heart  softened,  and 
quite  overcome  I  embraced  my  mother.  For  all  this,  the 
road  that  I  had  taken  was  a  slippery  one.  I  no  longer 
studied  anything  or  drew  as  I  had  always  done  before. 
I  read  very  little,  and  that  little  was  rubbish.  Praised 
and  cajoled  by  my  companions,  quite  satisfied  with  the 
kind  of  superiority  I  had  acquired  amongst  them  in  the 
shop,  I  might  have  fallen  very  low,  and  have  become  a 
good-for-nothing  man,  and  perhaps  a  despicable  one ;  but 
God  willed  it  otherwise.  And  now  that  I  must  begin  to 
speak  of  her  who  saved  me  and  loved  me,  and  whom  I 
loved  and  esteemed  always,  because  she  was  so  rich  in 
all  true  virtues,  I  feel  my  hand  tremble,  and  the  fulness 
of  my  love  confuses  my  ideas.  One  day  as  I  was  stand- 
ing by  my  work-bench,  I  saw  a  young  girl  pass  with  quick 
short  footsteps,  quite  concentrated  in  herself.  It  was  but 
a  fugitive  impression,  but  so  vivid  that  every  now  and 
then  that  vision  came  back  to  me  and  seemed  to  comfort 
me.  I  had  not  seen  the  features  of  her  face,  nor  her 
eyes,  which  she  kept  on  the  ground  ;  and  yet  that  upright 
modest  little  figure,  those  quick  little  footsteps,  had  taken 
my  fancy.  I  desired  to  see  her  again.  Every  now  and 
then  I  looked  up  from  my  work,  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
the  person  that  I  had  been  so  struck  by;  but  I  did 


4O  MASS  AT   SANTI   APOSTOLI. 

not   see  her  again   during  that   day  or  the   following 
ones. 

The  second  festa  of  Easter  I  was  at  Mass  in  the 
Church  of  the  Santi  Apostoli  near  by.  Suddenly  lifting 
my  eyes,  I  saw  facing  me  the  dear  young  girl  on  her 
knees.  Her  face  was  in  shadow,  as  it  was  bent  down, 
and  the  church  was  rather  dark,  but  the  features  and 
general  expression  were  chaste  and  sweet.  I  stayed 
there  enchanted.  That  figure  in  her  modest  dress 
and  humble  attitude,  so  still,  so  serene,  enraptured 
me.  When  Mass  was  finished,  the  people  began  to  go 
away,  but  she  still  remained  on  her  knees.  At  last 
she  rose  and  went  out,  and  I  followed  her  from  afar. 
She  stopped  at  a  house  on  the  door  of  which  I  saw 
the  sign  of  "  laundress."  I  could  not  believe  that  such 
a  modest  serious  young  girl  could  be  so  employed ; 
for  as  a  general  thing,  laundresses  are  rather  frisky  and 
provocative,  turning  their  heads  and  glancing  about,  and 
sometimes  very  slovenly  in  their  dress — in  fact,  the  oppo- 
site of  all  that  dear  good  creature  was.  From  the  first 
moment  that  I  saw  her  I  felt  for  her  a  respectful  admira- 
tion, a  tranquil  serene  brotherly  affection  and  trust.  I 
was  seized  with  an  irresistible  desire  to  love  her,  to  pos- 
sess her,  and  to  have  my  love  returned.  Often  without 
her  knowing  it,  I  followed  her  at  a  distance,  to  assure 
myself  of  her  bearing  and  her  ways,  and  always  observed 
in  her  a  chaste,  serious,  and  modest  nature.  At  last  I 
attempted  to  follow  her  nearer ;  and  when  she  became 
aware  of  it,  she  hastened  her  steps  and  crossed  to  the 
other  side  of  the  street.  I  was  disconcerted,  but  at  the 
same  time  felt  contented.  One  day,  however,  I  decided 
at  any  cost  to  speak  to  her,  and  to  open  my  heart  to  her ; 
and  as  I  knew  the  hour  when  she  was  in  the  habit  of 
passing  by  the  Piazza  di  San  Biagio,  where  I  was  at  work, 


I   FOLLOW   MARINA — HER   REBUKE.  4! 

I  held  myself  in  readiness,  and  as  soon  as  I  saw  her,  went 
out  and  followed  her,  that  I  might  draw  this  thorn  out 
of  my  heart.  Yes,  I  somehow  thought  she  would  not 
take  my  offer  amiss.  She  crossed  the  Loggia  del  Mer- 
cato  and  took  the  Via  di  Baccano  and  Condotta,  and 
turned  into  the  Piazzetta  de'  Giuochi,  and  I  always  fol- 
lowed her  nearer  and  nearer.  At  last  she  became  aware 
of  this,  stopped  suddenly,  turned,  and  without  looking 
me  in  the  face,  said,  "  I  want  no  one  to  follow  me." 

I  stammered  a  few  words,,  but  with  so  much  emotion 
in  my  voice,  that  she  again  stopped,  looked  at  me  a  mo- 
ment, and  said,  "  Go  home  to  your  mother,  and  do  not 
stop  me  again  in  the  streets." 

I  gave  her  a  grateful  look,  and  we  parted.  I  returned 
to  the  shop  with  my  heart  overflowing  with  love  and  hope. 

From  that  day  a  great  change  took  place  in  me :  com- 
panions, rioting,  and  billiards  disappeared  as  by  enchant- 
ment from  my  life.  That  same  evening  I  went  to  the 
laundry.  I  saw  the  mistress  of  it,  and  with  an  excuse  of 
having  some  work  to  give  her,  I  spoke  to  her  casually, 
and  in  a  general  way,  of  the  young  girl  (whose  name  I  did 
not  know) ;  but  she  being  very  sharp,  smiled  and  said — 

"Ah  yes;  Marina — certainly — I  understand.  But 
take  care  and  mind  what  I  say ;  Marina  is  such  a  well- 
conducted  girl  that  she  will  not  give  heed  to  you." 

"But  I  did  not  say  that  I  wanted  to  make  love  to 
her." 

"  I  know ;  but  I  understood  it,  and  I  repeat  that  she 
will  not  listen  to  you, — and  if  you  want  to  do  well,  you 
will  never  come  here  again.  Here  there  is  work  and  not 
love-making  to  be  done.  But  if  you  like,  you  might 
go  to  her  house  and  speak  with  her  mother.  Perhaps 
then  —  who  knows?  But  I  should  say  that  nothing 
would  come  of  it,  and  it  would  be  better  so.  You  are 


42  I   GO   TO   SEE   MARINA. 

too  young,  and  so  is  she.  Now  you  understand.  So  go 
away,  and  good-bye." 

"  Thank  you,  I  understand ;  but  where  is  Marina's 
house  ? " 

"  It  is  in  the  Via  dell'  Ulivo,  near  San  Piero." 

"Good-bye,  Signora  maestra." 

"  Your  servant." 

The  day  after  this. I  went  to  Marina's  house  and 
found  her  mother  Regina.  The  house  was  a  small  one, 
but  very  clean.  In  a  few  words  I  opened  my  heart  to 
her  and  told  her  all,  even  of  my  having  stopped  Marina 
in  the  Piazzetta  de'  Giuochi.  Regina  was  a  woman  of 
about  forty  years  of  age,  and  a  widow.  She  listened 
quietly  to  me  until  I  got  to  the  end,  and  then  only 
blamed  me  for  having  stopped  her  daughter  in  the  street. 
She  added  that  she  would  think  about  it ;  but  she  did 
not  conceal  from  me  that  she  thought  me  too  young.  I 
hastened  to  tell  her  how  much  I  made  by  my  day's  work, 
and  that  I  had  a  settled  occupation.  She  then  wished 
to  hear  about  my  family,  and  showed  a  desire  to  know 
my  mother ;  and  after  having  spoken  to  Marina,  she  said 
she  would  allow  me  to  come  to  the  house  of  an  evening 
two  or  three  times  a-week.  So  far-  things  went  well ; 
but  at  home  I  had  as  yet  said  nothing,  and  this  I  was 
obliged  to  do,  as  it  was  the  first  condition  made  be- 
fore I  could  go  to  the  girl's  house.  I  was  not  afraid 
of  my  father,  because,  single  or  married,  it  was  the  same 
to  him,  as  long  as  I  continued  to  help  him  in  the  work 
he  required  of  me;  but  as  regards  my  mother,  it  was 
quite  another  "pair  of  sleeves."  As  soon  as  I  had 
opened  my  mouth  I  saw  a  frown  on  her  beautiful 
forehead,  and  she  would  not  let  me  go  on  to  the  end, 
saying  that  I  was  doing  wrong,  that  I  was  too  young, 
that  I  ought  to  think  of  the  shop,  of  my  family,  and 


OPPOSITION   TO   MY   MARRIAGE.  43 

make  for  myself  a  standing.  Not  without  tears  she  made 
me  feel  that  she  looked  upon  this  determination  of  mine 
as  a  sign  of  want  of  love  for  her.  I  attempted  in  every 
way  to  persuade  her  that  I  always  cared  the  same  for 
her,  and  that  this  new  affection  would  in  no  wise  diminish 
my  love  for  her ;  that  the  young  girl  was  an  angel ;  that 
she  would  be  pleased  by  her,  and  love  her  like  a  daughter. 
I  embraced  her,  and  wept,  and  she  took  pity  on  me,  poor 
mother !  She  condescended  to  make  the  girl's  acquaint- 
ance, and  so  we  went  to  her  house.  The  two  mothers 
talked  a  long  time  together,  whilst  Marina  put  some 
things  in  order  here  and  there  about  the  room,  without 
going  away ;  and  you  could  see  the  embarrassment  of  the 
poor  girl.  I  held  one  of  my  mother's  hands  in  mine,  and 
kept  my  eyes  on  Marina,  who  never  looked  at  me  once. 

It  was  settled  that  I  could  go  to  the  house  two  or 
three  times  a- week  without  speaking  of  the  time  that  was 
to  elapse  before  the  day  of  the  wedding.  Yes,  I  really 
was  too  young,  as  I  was  only  eighteen. 

All  these  particulars  may  seem  superfluous,  and  for 
most  people  they  certainly  are  so ;  but  I  meant,  and  I 
said  so  from  the  first,  that  these  memoirs  should  be  des- 
tined for  my  family  and  for  young,  artists,  to  whom  I  desire 
to  show  myself  such  as  I  am,  even  in  all  the  truth  and 
purity  of  the  most  tender  of  affections.  Then  it  is  with 
a  feeling  of  tender  gratitude  and  painful  sadness  that  I 
go  back  in  memory  to  those  days  of  my  meeting  with 
her,  the  difficulties  that  arose  to  prevent  our  union,  and 
the  very  great  influence  she  had  over  me.  From  these 
pictures  interpolated  now  and  then  amongst  these  papers, 
young  men  of  good  intentions  will  feel  the  charm  that 
surrounds  the  sanctity  of  domestic  affections.  Every 
other  evening  I  saw  the  good  and  charming  girl.  I  re- 
mained for  only  about  an  hour  or  so — such  was  her 


44  OPPOSITION   TO   MY   MARRIAGE. 

'mother's  desire.  Whilst  both  of  them  worked  —  the 
mother  spinning  and  the  daughter  sewing  together  their 
long  braids  of  straw — I  talked  to  them  of  my  work  in 
the  shop,  of  my  studies,  and  of  my  hopes.  Again  re- 
turned to  me  stronger  than  ever  the  desire  to  do  figure- 
work,  and  a  vague,  persistent,  and  fierce  hope  to  become 
a  sculptor  in  marble.  When  in  various  forms  I  expressed 
these  my  thoughts,  Marina,  who  was  listening  to  me  with 
her  eyes  on  her  work,  looked  up  to  me  and  seemed  to 
search  in  mine  for  the  meaning  of  my  words.  Poor 
Marina,  you  did  not  then  understand  what  agitated  the 
heart  of  your  young  friend.  Later  you  understood ; 
and  although  full  of  fears,  you  did  not  discourage  him. 
But  enough — do  not  let  us  anticipate. 

Although  my  poor  mother  had  yielded  to  my  prayers, 
and  had  convinced  herself  that  Marina  was  a  well-con- 
ducted girl,  industrious,  docile,  and  honest,  yet  she  could 
not,  as  she  said,  be  persuaded  that  she  would  have  to 
lose  me ;  and  every  evening  when  I  returned  home  and 
tried  to  speak  to  her  of  Marina,  she  would  be  troubled, 
and  break  off  the  conversation  as  if  it  annoyed  her. 
Already,  unknown  to  me,  she  had  gone  several  times  to 
the  mother  of  the  young  girl,  and  said  that  I  was  too 
young — that  I  ought  to  think  more  Of  my  studies  than 
taking  to  myself  a  wife,  of  whom  in  the  end  I  should 
tire ;  and  poor  little  Marina  would  be  sure  to  suffer, 
in  the  first  place  because  she  cared  for  me,  and  in  the 
second  place  because,  if  abandoned  by  me,  she  would 
find  it  hard  to  get  a  husband.  All  these  things  were  said 
by  my  poor  mother  for  love  for  me  and  through  the  fear 
of  losing  me.  I  knew  it  some  time  after.  But  now  let 
us  see  what  were  the  fruits  of  these  words  of  hers. 

One  morning — it  was  Sunday — I  went  to  Marina's 
house  feeling  more  light-hearted  than  usual.  It  was 


I   AM   SENT   AWAY.  45 

about  one  o'clock,  after  Mass.  I  went  up-stairs,  knocked, 
and  Regina  opened  the  door  to  me ;  but  as  I  entered  I 
heard  a  rustling  sound,  and  saw  Marina  retiring  into  her 
little  room.  Her  mother  was  more  serious  than  usual, 
but  seemed  not  to  wish  to  show  it.  I  perceived  at  once 
that  there  must  be  something  the  matter,  and  wished  to 
clear  it  up.  So  I  began — 

"  Marina — where  is  she?     Is  she  not  at  home?" 

"Yes  ;  she  is  in  her  room." 

"  Does  she  feel  ill?     I  hope  not." 

"She  has  nothing  the  matter  with  her,  thank  God; 
but  as  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  and  as  she  knows 
what  it  is  I  want  to  say,  she  would  not  remain,  and  has 
retired  to  her  room." 

After  this  preamble,  although  there  was  nothing  that 
I  could  reproach  myself  with,  I  felt  quite  frozen  up. 

"  What  is  it  then  that  you  have  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"  Listen,  and  don't  take  it  ill ;  in  fact,  I  have  already 
told  you  from  the  first  that  you  are  too  young,  and  who 
knows  when  you  will  be  able  to  marry  my  daughter? 
From  now  until  then  some  time  must  elapse,  and  I  have 
no  wish  that  you  should  occupy  that  time  sitting  about 
on  my  chairs.  Then,  too,  you  may  change — your  com- 
panions may  put  you  up  to  this;  and  we  are  poor  people 
but  honest,  and  I  don't  want  my  Marina  to  be  courted 
by  one  who — 

"Enough,  Regina — enough.  It  is  true  I  am  too 
young,  but  you  knew  it  when  you  allowed  me  to  come 
to  the  house.  My  earnings  seemed  then  sufficient ;  and 
if  no  date  was  fixed  for  the  marriage,  it  was  because  it 
was  not  asked.  I  am  decided,  if  it  so  pleases  Marina, 
to  take  her  home  in  a  year  or  a  year  and  a  half  s  time. 
Your  words  are  the  result  of  the  tittle-tattle  of  people 
who  wish  us  ill." 


46  TEMPORARY   SEPARATION. 

"  No,"  Regina  hastened  to  say — "  no,  they  are  not  ill 
wishes  of  you  or  of  us.  But  you  understand  me  quite 
well,  that  if  I  speak  in  this  manner  to  you,  it  is  for  the 
good  name  of  my  daughter.  Nothing  is  damaged  by  it. 
For  the  present  you  will  be  so  good  as  not  to  come  to  the 
house.  If  it  is  a  rose,  as  they  say,  it  will  blossom ;  and 
when  you  return  and  say,  next  month,  I  want  to  marry 
Marina,  you  need  have  no  fears;  she  will  wait  for  you." 

I  remained  silent  and  sad,  and  then  said — "  Is  this 
also  Marina's  wish?" 

"It  is." 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  say  one  word  to  her  before 
going?" 

"Say  it,  certainly." 

I  went  to  her  door  and  pushed  it  open  a  little.  She 
was  standing  with  one  hand  leaning  on  the  back  of  a 
chair ;  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  but  the  expression  of  her 
face  seemed  tranquil.  "  Marina,"  I  said,  "  your  mother 
has  sent  me  away,  and  she  has  told  me  that  this  is  also 
your  wish."  She  lifted  her  eyes  and  moved  a  little. 
"  I  therefore  obey,  but  be  sure  that  I  will  never  look 
into  the  face  of  another  young  girl  until  I  come  to  claim 
you  for  mine.  Do  you  accept  my  promise  willingly  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  steadfast  quiet  voice. 
Then  I  stepped  nearer  to  her  and  put  out  my  hand. 
First  she  looked  towards  her  mother,  and  then  she  put 
her  hand  in  mine,  and  we  looked  at  each  other,  and  in 
her  eyes  I  saw  a  little  tear,  and  her  faith  in  my  promise. 

I  went  away  pierced  to  the  heart,  but  firm  in  my 
resolve.  Neither  at  home  nor  at  the  shop  could  they 
understand  what  was  the  matter  with  me,  for  my  whole 
character  had  so  changed.  I  think  my  mother  under- 
stood what  it  was,  for  she  caressed  me  more  than  usual, 
and  asked  me  no  questions ;  and  I  set  my  heart  at 


I   RESUME   MY   BAD   HABITS.  47 

rest,  because  I  trusted  in  the  strength  of  character  and 
true  nature  of  the  girl.  Although  it  was  prohibited  me 
to  go  to  her  house,  yet-  I  made  it  a  study  how  to  meet 
her  out  of  doors,  and,  without  being  seen,  to  see  her,  and 
even  follow  her  from  a  distance.  I  was  not  at  peace, 
however — not  because  I  had  any  fears  as  regards  her,  but 
I  was  afraid  of  myself.  I  felt  an  aching  void  within  me 
that  nothing  would  fill.  I  saw  smiling  dreams  of  fame 
and  honour  vanish  little  by  little.  I  heard  a  voice 
whispering  within  me — "  Put  an  end,  poor  fool,  to  your 
melancholy ;  you  were  born  poor  and  ignorant,  and  so 
you  will  die.  Qualities  are  required  to  lift  one's  self  above 
others  that  you  are  entirely  wanting  in.  Genius  is 
necessary,  and  you  cannot  say  that  you  have  it.  Educa- 
tion is  necessary,  and  you  have  none.  Money  is  neces- 
sary, and  you  have  not  a  farthing.  Above  all,  a  strong 
will  is  needed,  and  yours  is  most  variable,  transient,  and 
weak,  bending  to  the  slightest  breath  of  a  contrary  wind. 
Put  an  end  to  it  all,  and  do  as  I  say :  enjoy  day  by  day 
whatever  is  given  to  you  to  enjoy.  Amuse  yourself  with 
friends  your  equals,  and  whenever  any  of  these  thoughts 
oppress  you,  drown  them  in  a  glass  of  wine.  As  to  your 
young  girl,  remember  it  is  as-  her  mother  has  said,  '  If  it 
is  a  rose,  it  will  blossom.'  Up  !  up  !  Viva  !  and  keep  a 
light  heart."  I  already  felt  myself  half  yielding  to  these 
suggestions.  I  was  down-hearted,  and  had  not  the 
strength  to  shake  myself  free  from  this  strait  of  dis- 
couragement and  desolation. 

I  had  but  little  religion  in  me,  which  alone  could  have 
comforted  my  soul  with  constancy  and  faith  in  these  first 
ebullitions  of  life ;  so  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if,  in 
this  state  of  languor  and  discontent,  I  again  turned  to 
the  amusements  of  my  friends,  losing  not  a  few  hours  in 
the  public  billiard-rooms.  I  returned  to  one  of  the  worst 


48  QUARREL   AND   FIGHT. 

of  habits,  for  him  who  has  a  home — that  of  going  to  the 
osteria;  and  I  remember  to  have  felt  humiliated  on  find- 
ing myself  in  the  midst  of  that  noisy,  vulgar  merriment, 
and  hearing  the  coarse  words  uttered  in  those  taverns, 
where  the  air  was  heavy  with  wine,  food,  and  cigar-smoke. 
The  chaste  image  and  simple  gentle  words  of  my  good 
Marina  came  back  to  me,  and  I  felt  troubled,  and, 
shaking  myself,  I  used  to  rise  abruptly  and  go  away. 

Yes,  truly  the  image  of  that  gentle  being  aroused  me, 
and  made  me  return  to  myself  with  a  feeling  of  shame, 
and  a  determination  to  put  an  end  to  all  this.  It  was 
providential,  however,  that  not  only  her  image  but  she 
herself  appeared  to  arrest  me  on  the  brink  where  I  had 
allowed  myself  to  be  dragged,  and  my  meeting  with  her 
deserves  to  be  narrated. 

Months  had  passed  since  I  had  been  sent  away  from 
my  Marina's  house.  It  happened  one  day,  it  being  a 
festa,  that  I  had  promised  to  go  out  of  the  Porta  San 
Miniato  to  meet  some  friends  and  eat  a  fresh  plate  of 
salad ;  and  when  I  was  near  the  Church  of  San  Niccolo, 
I  could  not  cross  the  street  on  account  of  the  procession 
that  was  just  coming  out  of  the  church.  I  think  it  was 
during  the  Octave  of  Corpus  Domini :  there  were  many 
people,  and  I  waited  until  the  procession  had  passed ; 
then,  perhaps  because  I  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  overtake 
my  friends,  in  passing  by  I  inadvertently  knocked  against 
two  women  who  were  in  the  company  of  a  young  man. 
They  took  it  in  ill  part,  and  the  young  man,  thinking 
perhaps  that  I  had  knocked  against  them  on  purpose, 
said — 

"  Has  the  boor  passed  by  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  boor  yourself,"  I  answered. 

"  Pass  on,  if  you  want  to."  And  he  gave  me  a  push. 
I  turned  around  on  him  and  hit  him  a  blow  in  the  face, 


ESCAPE   FROM   THE   POLICE.  49 

and  from  that  instant  I  had  all  three,  the  youth  and  the 
girls,  down  on  me.  But  they  got  little  good  out  of  it : 
the  young  fellow,  who  was  rather  slight  than  otherwise, 
was  put  at  once  out  of  fighting  condition  by  two  blows 
of  my  fist  in  the  face ;  and  I  freed  myself  from  the  girls, 
who  seemed  like  infuriated  harpies.  In  an  instant  lace, 
ribbon,  and  feathers  flew  in  the  air  like  dry  leaves  scat- 
tered by  the  wind. 

A  space  was  cleared  around  me,  and  some  said,  "  Oh, 
what  a  scandal!"  others,  "Bravo!"  Some  ran  away, 
some  laughed,  and  the  soldiers  came  to  clear  the  place 
and  quell  the  tumult,  and  the  sbirri  (for  there  were  sbirri 
then)  to  make  arrests. 

A  mounted  dragoon  stationed  himself  in  front  of  the 
church.  A  strong-built  young  man,  then  practitioner  at 
the  hospital,  and  now  a  distinguished  physician — Doctor 
Gozzini — seeing  the  bad  plight  I  was  in,  and  having 
been  one  of  those  who  had  called  out  "  Bravo  ! "  came 
quickly  to  me,  and  taking  me  by  the  arm,  hid  me 
amongst  the  crowd,  and  took  me  with  him  behind  the 
mounted  dragoon.  There  we  stood  quite  still,  and  saw 
them  arrest  the  poor  young  fellow  with  his  broken  nose, 
and  the  girls  with  their  crushed  hats.  I  was  not  dis- 
covered that  evening.  They  found  me,  however,  easily 
enough  next  morning  at  the  shop ;  but  I  will  speak  of 
this  later.  And  now  I  feel  in  duty  bound  to  assert  that 
that  was  the  last  escapade  of  that  kind  that  I  was  guilty 
of.  I  feel  strong  enough  (or,  as  some  may  think,  weak 
enough)  now  to  bear  quietly  similar  words  and  acts  that 
so  outraged  me  then.  Ah !  indeed  age  and  experience 
are,  as  one  may  say,  like  the  grindstone  that  rounds  and 
softens  down  the  asperities  and  impetuosities  of  early 
youth  to  form  the  character. 

Not  to  excuse  the  affair  nor  the  violence  of  my  ways, 
D 


5O  CLOTHES  STOLEN   AT   BATH. 

but  for  the  love  of  truth,  I  feel  bound  to  narrate  another 
adventure  that  happened  to  me  on  the  morning  of  that 
same  day,  which  had  perhaps  served  to  exasperate  my 
already  irritable  state  of  mind.  About  mid-day  I  had 
betaken  myself  to  the  public  baths  of  Vaga-Loggia,  a 
bathing-place  which  was  formed  out  of  that  part  of  the 
canal  called  the  Macinante  running  between  the  Fran- 
zoni  Palace  and  the  palace  belonging  to  the  Baroness 
Favard.  It  was  covered  in  by  a  framework  of  wood, 
with  awnings,  and  the  entrance  was  by  a  little  door  and 
through  a  narrow  corridor  that  went  along  the  side  of  the 
canal.  At  the  end  of  this  passage  was  a  sort  of  stand, 
and  a  room  that  was  used  for  undressing,  and  where,  for 
a  few  soldi,  an  employe  of  the  municipality  was  stationed, 
who  furnished  towels,  and  took  charge  of  the  clothes  and 
other  effects  belonging  to  the  bathers.  For  those  also 
who  could  not  or  would  not  pay,  below  the  steps  lead- 
ing to  the  baths  there  was  a  sort  of  small  amphitheatre 
with  a  little  wall  around  it,  and  in  this  wall  niches  to 
put  one's  clothes  in.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  seen 
a  something  of  the  same  kind  that  was  used  for  a 
similar  purpose  at  Pompeii,  only  there  they  were  hot 
baths. 

I  chose  this  second-named  place,  which  was  more 
economical  certainly,  but  not  so  safe,  as  you  will  see. 
After  having  bathed,  on  coming  out  of  the  water  I  went 
to  my  little  niche  and  found  it  empty.  I  looked  about, 
inquired,  and  swore.  No  one  knew  anything  about  my 
clothes.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  a  joke,  to  keep  me 
some  time  naked ;  but  at  last  I  was  convinced,  and  the 
other  bathers  as  well,  that  my  things  had  all  been  stolen. 

What  was  there  then  to  do?  Nothing  had  been 
left — they  had  taken  everything ;  and  to  say  the  truth, 
it  did  not  seem  at  all  comic  to  me,  however  others 


I  BORROW  ANOTHER  DRESS.        51 

might  laugh.  A  friend  relieved  me  from  my  embar- 
rassment. He  dressed  himself  in  haste,  went  home  to 
his  house,  which  was  on  the  Prato,  and  brought  me  all 
I  required,  from  my  shoes  to  my  hat.  I  dressed  myself, 
went  home  in  the  worst  of  tempers,  and  I  have  already 
described  what  followed. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


RETURN  TO  THE  HOUSE  OF  MY  BETROTHED,  AND  PUT  AN  END  TO  MY 
THOUGHTLESS  WAYS— A  TALKING  PARROT — HE  WHO  DOES  NOT  WISH  TO 
READ  THESE  PAGES  KNOWS  WHAT  HE  HAS  TO  DO— HOW  I  WENT  TO  PRISON, 
AND  HOW  I  PASSED  MY  TIME  THERE — "  THE  DEATH  OF  FERRUCCIO,"  BY  THE 
PAINTER  BERTOLI  —  SIGNOR  LUIGI  MAGI,  THE  SCULPTOR  —  HOW  I  LEARNT 
TO  BECOME  ECONOMICAL — SHIRTS  WITH  PLAITED  WRIST-BANDS — THE  FIRST 
LOVE-KISS,  AND  A  LITTLE  BUNCH  OF  LEMON-VERBENA — MY  MARRIAGE — MY 
WIFE  HAS  DOUBTS  AS  TO  MY  RESOLUTION  OF  STUDYING  SCULPTURE — PA- 
CETTl's  SHOP  IN  PALAZZO  BORGHESE — I  SELL  THE  "  SANTA  FILOMENA"  TO 
A  RUSSIAN,  WHO  RE-CHRISTENS  HER  "HOPE" — I  BEGIN  TO  WORK  ON  MARBLE 
—  I  MAKE  A  LITTLE  CRUCIFIX  IN.  BOXWOOD,  WHICH  IS  BOUGHT  BY  CAV. 
EMANUEL  FENZI — VERSES  BY  GIOVANNI  BATTISTA  NICCOLINI. 


ND  now  to  return  to  my  unfortunate  esca- 
pade, which,  so  to  speak,  was  the  cause  of 
my  good  fortune.  Whilst  they  were  look- 
ing for  me,  hidden  in  the  crowd,  I  got  away 
by  slow  degrees  to  the  Porta  San  Miniato,  and,  keeping 
close  to  the  walls  up  the  hillside,  escaped  the  observation 
of  the  police ;  and  then,  on  thinking  over  the  danger  I 
had  run,  and  the  scandal  I  had  created  by  my  folly, 
I  resolved  to  mend  my  ways.  Here  the  remembrance 
of  the  dear  gentle  maiden  came  over  me,  and  I  thought 
if  I  had  been  with  her  and  had  not  been  driven  away, 
this  disturbance  would  never  have  taken  place.  Her 
presence,  her  words,  the  desire  of  possessing  her,  and 
being  loved  and  esteemed  by  her,  were  necessary  to 
me.  At  last  I  returned  to  town  by  the  same  road,  and, 


I  RETURN   TO   MARINA'S   HOUSE.  53 

going  up  by  the  Renai,  I  crossed  the  Ponte  alle  Grazie, 
and  near  there  I  saw  Marina  and  her  mother  walking 
before  me.  My  heart  leaped  within  me !  Had  they 
been  to  the  procession?  Did  they  know  what  had 
happened,  and  had  they  seen  me?  What  a  start  it 
gave  me !  To  appear  such  a  poor  creature  in  her  eyes 
was  intolerable :  what  others  might  say  was  nothing 
compared  to  her  condemnation  ;  and,  let  alone  con- 
demnation, what  I  feared  was  the  loss  of  her  esteem. 
Under  the  influence  of  this  fear,  I  had  not  the  courage 
to  address  her ;  but  at  last,  this  uncertainty  seeming  too 
bitter  to  bear,  I  went  up  to  her  mother's  side  and  said, 
"Good  evening,  Regina." 

"  Oh,  see  who  is  here !  Good  evening,"  she  replied, 
with  a  joyful  face. 

I  felt  a  new  life  come  to  me. 

"  What !  have  you  been  to  the  procession  ?  "  she  said. 

I  looked  both  straight  in  the  face  and  answered,  "  I 
come  from  that  direction.  I  have  been  out  of  the  gate 
of  San  Miniato." 

"  Have  you  heard  that  there  has  been  a  disturbance 
in  the  Piazza  di  San  Niccolb  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so ;  but  it  was  a  mere  nothing." 

"Ah,  not  so  much  of  a  mere  nothing.  They  came 
to  blows;  there  were  some  women  among  them;  the 
soldiers  came — the  dragoons.  I  tell  you  it  was  a  great 
row.  Besides,  some  have  been  arrested,  and  will  be 
taken  to  prison ;  and  it  serves  them  right.  Pretty  busi- 
ness, such  a  scandal  as  this  ! " 

After  a  pause,  I  began  again,  turning  to  Marina — 

"Where  were  you  when  you  saw  the  procession? " 

"  We  ! "  answered  Marina — "  we  were  in  the  church. 
We  saw  it  go  out,  and  a  little  after  the  disturbance 
occurred.  I  had  such  a  fright ! " 


54  STORY  OF  A  PARROT. 

Having  ascertained  that  they  knew  nothing  of  my 
doings,  I  was  consoled,  changed  the  conversation,  and 
accompanied  them  down  from  Santa  Croce  to  their 
house.  When  we  were  on  the  threshold  I  sadly  said  good- 
night; but  Regina,  to  my  great  surprise  and  pleasure, 
said  to  me,  "  Won't  you  come  up  for  a  little  while  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  stop  a  little  while 
with  the  greatest  pleasure."  And  looking  into  the  face 
of  my  good  Marina,  her  eyes  seemed  to  say,  "  Yes,  I  am 
most  happy."  We  then  went  up-stairs,  and  I  remained 
there  only  a  short  time,  so  as  not  to  appear  to  presume 
upon  their  kindness;  but  in  taking  leave,  I  told  the 
mother  that  I  should  return  the  next  day,  for  I  had 
something  to  say  to  her.  My  resolution  was  taken. 

Have  you  done  at  last  with  all  your  childish  follies, 
your  tiresome  tirades,  your  colourless  love,  fit  only  for 
collegians?  You  promised  to  give  us  your  memoirs, 
and  we  supposed  that  you  had  something  of  importance 
and  interest  to  tell  us.  Are  these,  then,  your  memoirs  ? 
and  do  you  really  and  seriously  think  that  such  things 
as  this  are  of  the  least  interest  to  anybody  ? 

Listen,  dear  reader.  You  have  a  thousand  good 
reasons  to  think  so,  after  your  mode  of  viewing  things ; 
but  I  have  quite  as  many  on  my  side,  as  I  will  now 
prove  to  you.  But  first  let  me  tell  you  a  little  story. 
There  was  once  a  parrot  trained  to  put  together  certain 
words  and  make  a  little  speech,  almost  as  if  it  was  his 
own.  One  day  the  servant  (who  was  new  to  the  house 
where  the  parrot  was,  and  had  never  seen  such  a  bird 
before)  was  struck  with  astonishment  at  hearing  him, 
and  was  so  delighted  that  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
touch  him.  As  he  did  this,  the  bold  and  loquacious 
bird  opened  his  beak  and  said,  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 
The  astonished  servant  at  once  withdrew  his  hand,  and, 


AM   ARRESTED   AND   SENT   TO   PRISON.         55 

lifting  his  cap,  answered,  "  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  I  took 
you  for  a  beast ! " 

I  find  myself  now  in  the  opposite  case,  and  say  to 
you,  "  Excuse  me,  I  took  you  for  a  man  " — that  is  to  say, 
I  imagined  that  you  sympathised  with  me,  and  even 
appreciated  a  man  who  promises  to  tell  the  truth,  and 
to  narrate  things  just  as  they  really  were  and  are ;  and 
this  I  am  doing,  and  mean  to  do  to  the  end,  without 
caring  who  likes  great  effects  of  light  and  shade,  fearful 
shadows,  and  mere  inventions,  more  or  less  romantic. 
If  you  don't  like  my  way  of  doing  this,  you  know  very 
well  what  to  do — shut  the  book  and  lay  it  aside,  or  skip 
what  bores  you,  and  perhaps  you  may  find  here  and 
there  something  which  pleases  you.  But  .1  wish  to  give 
you  fair  warning,  that  these  memoirs  refer  to  and  de- 
scribe in  part  that  very  love  which,  though  it  may  seem 
to  you  perfectly  colourless,  was  none  the  less  living, 
deep,  and  holy,  and  that  retained  its  warmth  and  vivid- 
ness of  light  for  forty  years,  until  she  who  was  its  object 
disappeared  from  this  earth,  leaving  in  my  heart  the 
memory  of  her  rare  virtues,  a  love  which  is  ever  alive, 
and  the  hope  that  I  may  again  see  her. 

And  now  again  I  take  up  the  thread  of  my  narrative. 
Truly,  when  I  said  to  Regina  that  I  should  return  the 
next  day  to  speak  with  her,  I  counted  without  my  host, 
as  the  saying  goes.  The  next  day  I  found  myself  in 
"quod" — for  but  a  short  time,  if  you  please,  but  still  in 
prison  for  fourteen  hours  from  morning  to  evening.  But 
I  was  very  well  off  there,  as  I  shall  now  explain. 

The  morning  after,  on  Monday — I  was  at  my  post,  the 
first  bench  in  Sani's  shop — a  person,  after  walking  for 
some  time  up  and  down  before  the  shop  windows,  came 
in  and  said,  "Be  so  kind  as  to  come  with  me  to  the 
Commissary  of  Santo  Spirito,  and Do  not  be 


56          EXAMINATION   BY  THE  COMMISSARIO. 

alarmed ;  it  is  nothing.  The  Signer  Commissario  wishes 
to  learn  from  you  something  about  the  disturbance  that 
occurred  yesterday  at  San  Niccolb  after  the  procession." 

"  But  I — be  assured " 

"  Don't  stop  to  deny  anything.  The  Signor  Commis- 
sario knows  all.  Your  name  is  Giovanni  Dupre.  You 
live  in  Via  del  Gelsomino,  which  is  precisely  in  our 
quarter ;  and  I  did  not  go  to  look  for  you  at  your  house, 
in  order  not  to  disturb  the  family.  But  I  can  assure  you 
that  it  is  a  matter  of  no  importance — perhaps  a  scold- 
ing, but  nothing  more." 

I  resigned  myself,  and  went  with  him.  This  person 
was  not  absolutely  a  sbirro,  but  something  of  that  kind  ; 
and  out  of  a  sense  of  delicacy,  and  divining  my  thoughts, 
he  said  to  me — 

"  Go  on  before  me.  You  know  the  way.  I  will 
keep  behind  you  in  the  distance,  and  no  one  will  perceive 
that  we  are  together." 

This  I  did,  and  arriving  at  the  Commissariato,  was  im- 
mediately introduced  to  the  Commissario.  The  Com- 
missario was  in  those  days  a  sort  of  justice  of  the  peace, 
who  possessed  certain  attributes  and  powers,  by  which 
he  was  enabled  to  adjudge  by  himself  certain  causes,  and 
to  punish  by  one  day's  imprisonment  in  the  Commissar- 
iato itself.  If  the  affair  after  the  interrogatory  required  a 
longer  punishment,  the  accused  party  was  conducted  to 
the  Bargello. 

The  interrogatory  then  took  place ;  and  after  severely 
blaming  me  for  my  conduct,  he  told  me  that  the  matter 
in  itself  was  very  grave,  both  on  account  of  the  assault 
and  the  injuries  done  by  me  to  these  persons,  and  also 
of  the  tumult  which  had  been  occasioned  on  a.  fete  which 
was  not  only  public  but  sacred,  and  that  therefore  it 
was  beyond  his  power  to  deal  with  such  an  offence.  I 


MY   PRISON   WALLS.  57 

felt  myself  grow  cold,  and  had  scarcely  breath  to  speak, 
so  completely  had  the  idea  of  being  sent  to  the  Bargello 
overwhelmed  me.  But  the  good  magistrate  hastened  to 
add,  "However,  do  not  fear.  The  single  deposition  of  only 
one  of  the  corrisanti  is  not  in  itself  sufficient,  and  there- 
fore it  may  be  assumed  that  the  provocation  came  from 
their  side,  and  that  you  acted  in  legitimate  self-defence. 
But  as  there  was  disorder,  and  injuries  were  received, 
you  must  be  content  to  pass  the  day  shut  up  in  one  of 
our  cells."  Thus  saying,  he  rang  his  bell,  and  said  to  a 
sbirro  who  appeared  at  the  door,  "  Conduct  this  gentle- 
man out,  and  lock  him  up ; "  and  as  I  went  out  he 
added,  "  Another  time  be  cautious,  and  remember  that 
you  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  one  whose  name 
is  not  entered  here ; "  and  he  laid  his  hand  upon  a  large 
book  which  he  had  on  the  table.  I  bowed,  went  out,  and 
the  sbirro  opened  a  door  in  the  court  of  the  Commis- 
sariato,  made  a  gesture  to  me  to  enter,  and  shut  me  in. 

The  room  in  which  I  found  myself  was  tolerably  large, 
with  a  fair  amount  of  light,  which  came  in  from  a  high 
iron-barred  window.  In  one  corner  was  a  heap  of  char- 
coal ;  and  from  this,  perhaps,  the  room  had  received  the 
name  of  the  Carbonaia.  The  walls  were  dirty,  and 
covered  with  obscene  inscriptions.  There  was  a  bench 
to  sit  upon,  a  closet,  and  nothing  else.  I  remained 
standing  and  looking  about,  but  I  saw  nothing.  My 
thoughts  were  wandering  sadly  and  confusedly  from  one 
thing  to  another,  and  fixed  themselves  with  fear  and 
sorrow  upon  my  mother  and  Marina,  who,  in  the  state  in 
which  I  found  myself,  seemed  to  me  more  than  ever  dear 
and  worthy  of  honour.  I  thought  of  their  grief,  and  felt 
a  shudder  of  emotion  come  over  me.  But  the  assurance 
that  I  should  soon  be  free,  and  should  not  pass  the  night 
there,  strengthened  me  and  gave  me  courage,  and  I 


58  DRAWING  ON   PRISON   WALLS. 

walked  up  and  down  the  room  humming  to  myself. 
Then,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  and  how  to  occupy  the 
time,  which  is  always  so  long  and  tedious  when  one  has 
nothing  to  do,  I  caught  sight  of  the  charcoal,  and  my 
spirits  rose,  and  I  said,  "  Now  I  have  nothing  to  fear, 
for  here  is  an  occupation  which  will  last  me  as  long  as 
there  is  light ; "  and  I  began  to  draw  upon  the  wall  a 
composition  of  figures  almost  as  large  as  life,  the  sub- 
ject of  which  was  the  death  of  Ferruccio.  This  was 
a  composition  which  I  had  seen  at  about  that  time 
in  the  exhibition  of  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  in  a 
picture  which  had  struck  my  fancy.  It  represented 
Ferruccio  lying  on  the  ground  mortally  wounded,  and 
wrapped  in  the  flag  of  the  Commune.  With  a  fierce 
and  scornful  look  he  seemed  to  be  saying  to  Mara- 
maldo,  who  was  giving  orders  to  finish  killing  him, 
"You  kill  a  dead  man."  The  author  of  this  picture 
was  the  painter  Bertoli,  a  young  man  of  great  pro- 
mise, and  who  unhappily  died  not  long  afterwards  in 
the  insane  asylum.  The  drawing  that  I  made  upon 
the  wall  was  a  reminiscence  of  that  composition,  and 
there  was  nothing  of  mine  in  it  beyond  an  effort  of 
memory. 

My  poor  mother,  having  been  informed  by  the  people 
of  the  shop,  came  to  the  Commissario,  in  the  hope  of 
obtaining  my  liberation,  but  she  could  not  even  obtain 
permission  to  see  me.  The  only  thing  allowed  to  her 
was  permission  to  bring  me  my  dinner — that  is,  to  give 
it  to  some  one  to  bring  in  to  me,  all  but  the  wine  ;  and 
this  she  did.  Oh,  my  sweet  mother,  may  God  grant  thee 
the  reward  of  thy  love  ! 

In  the  meantime  the  evening  drew  nigh;  the  walls 
were  covered  with  my  poor  drawings,  and  my  hands  and 
face  and  handkerchief  were  all  black.  I  would  willing- 


RELEASE   FROM   PRISON.  59 

ly  have  remained  in  prison  till  another  day  in  order  to 
finish  a  little  less  badly  the  Ferruccio  ;  but  to  stay  there 
for  long  hours  in  the  dark,  and  with  nothing  to  do,  so 
irritated  and  disquieted  me,  that  I  began  to  cry  out,  and 
beat  on  the  door,  asking  for  a  light  at  my  own  expense. 
But  no  one  heeded  me ;  and  as  I  continued  to  drum  loudly 
on  the  door,  and  had  even  taken  the  bench  to  hammer 
with,  a  voice  different  from  the  others  called  out  to  me, 
"  Sir,  for  your  own  good  I  pray  you  to  stop.  The  rules 
forbid  lights  ;  and  if  you  go  on  in  this  way,  I  promise 
you  that  you  shall  sleep  to-night  in  the  Bargello."  Never 
did  so  short  a  speech  produce  the  desired  effect  like  this. 
I  hastened  to  answer  that  I  would  be  absolutely  quiet. 
I  put  back  my  bench  in  its  place,  and  seated  myself  upon 
it,  in  the  attitude  perhaps  of  Marius  sitting  on  the  ruins 
of  Carthage ;  and  there  I  remained  until  eleven  o'clock 
at  night.  The  door  was  then  opened,  and  I  was  told  to 
go  to  the  Signor  Commissario  to  thank  him.  This  I 
did,  and  he  repeated  to  me  the  sermon  of  the  morning, 
and  added  that  I  owed  to  him  the  mildness  of  my  sen- 
tence. I  renewed  my  thanks  to  him,  and  ran  home, 
where  I  found  my  mother  and  father  awaiting  me — he 
with  a  severe  face,  and  she  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

The  day  after,  I  went  to  the  house  of  Marina — for  I  in- 
vented some  sort  of  lie  to  explain  why  I  had  not  come 
the  day  before,  as  I  had  promised — and  taking  aside 
Regina  (as  Marina  had  established  a  school  in  the 
house),  I  expressed  to  her  my  desire  to  be  married  as 
soon  as  possible.  It  was  rather  soon,  I  confess ;  but  for 
me  there  was  no  other  safety.  With  her — with  my  good 
Marina — I  felt  that  I  should  cut  short  the  too  excited 
kind  of  life  I  was  then  leading,  and  which  carried  me 
into  company  and  into  gambling,  and  down  that  de- 
cline which  leads  every  one  knows  where.  That  very 


6O  LITTLE   ECONOMIES. 

evening  I  returned  and  insisted  on  acquainting  the  dear 
girl  with  my  determination,  at  which  she  showed  herself 
modestly  happy.  The  true  affection  that  I  felt  for  that 
good  creature,  and  the  solemn  pledge  that  I  then  took, 
put  an  absolute  end  to  the  thoughtless  life  which  I  had 
been  leading.  Stronger  than  ever  came  back  to  me  my 
love  for  study,  and  I  began  to  turn  over  in  my  mind 
how  to  occupy  myself  in  marble  work,  even  though  it 
should  be  as  a  simple  workman.  At  that  time  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Signor  Luigi  Magi,  who  was  in  the 
Studio  Ricci,  in  Via  S.  Leopoldo,  now  Via  Cavour,  and 
I  opened  my  mind  to  him,  and  he  did  not  dissuade  me 
from  my  purpose.  But  he  advised  me  first  to  learn 
how  to  draw  well  and  to  model,  and  after  going  through 
a  certain  course  of  these  studies,  then  to  attempt  to  work 
in  marble.  He  offered  to  procure  for  me  copies  to  draw 
from ;  and  then,  as  he  intended  to  set  up  a  studio  for 
himself,  he  offered  to  give  me  lessons  in  modelling  in 
clay.  This  being  agreed  upon,  I  returned  home  happy 
in  the  hope  of  carrying  out  this  plan.  But  the  many 
little  things  that  I  had  to  think  of,  and  not  the  least  of 
which  was  to  save  all  the  time  I  could  in  order  to  pro- 
vide for  the  unusual  expenses  of  my  marriage,  upset  en- 
tirely for  several  months  this  ambitious  project. 

The  ideas  of  wise  economy  which  have  up  to  the  present 
time  always  accompanied  me,  I  owe  to  my  most  excel- 
lent Marina.  One  day  she  said  to  me,  "  You  make  four 
pauls  a-day,  and  two  you  spend  on  the  house.  What  do 
you  do  with  the  other  two  ?  " 

"  I  dress,  buy  cigars,  and  I  don't  know  what  else." 
"  See,"  she  answered,  "  on  your  dress  it  is  evident  that 
you  don't  spend  much ;  your  cigars  are  a  small  matter  ; 
so  it  seems  to  me  that   you  might  put  a  part  aside  to 
supply  what  we  most  need." 


MARINA — AND   A   POT   OF   VERBENA.  6 1 

"  The  fact  is,  that  I  cannot  keep  the  money." 

"  If  you  like,  I  will  keep  it  for  you." 

I  accepted  with  pleasure,  and  every  week  brought  her 
the  surplus  ;  and  I  strove  that  it  should  not  be  small,  for 
she  knew  pretty  well  what  I  had  over.  At  the  end  of  a 
few  weeks  I  found  that  I  had  a  package  of  six  or  eight 
beautiful  shirts  with  plaited  cuffs,  such  as  I  had  always 
worn  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  An  intelligent  economy 
saves  us  from  need,  and  even  in  narrow  circumstances 
makes  life  easy.  I  owe  to  this  wise  woman  the  exact 
and  judicious  regulation  of  my  family,  as  well  in  the  first 
years  of  our  marriage — when  we  were  very  much  restricted 
in  means — as  in  those  which  came  after. 

My  eagerness  to  see  her  every  evening,  my  exactness 
in  carrying  her  all  my  savings,  and  the  respect  which  I 
showed  her  by  my  words  and  acts,  made  me  dearer  to 
her  eyes  than  I  ever  was  before.  One  evening  we  were 
standing  at  the  window  of  our  little  parlour,  which  over- 
looked a  garden  which  was  not  ours.  On  its  ledge  were 
some  pots  of  flowers  reaching  out  over  the  windows,  and 
among  the  flowers  was  a  plant  of  verbena,  which  she 
liked  above  all  things.  I  talked  to  her  of  my  studies, 
of  my  hopes,  of  the  happiness  I  felt  in  being  near  her ; 
and  all  the  time  I  was  so  close  to  her,  that  our  two 
breathings  were  mingled  together. 

She  was  silent,  her  face  and  eyes  lifted  to  the  starry 
heavens.  The  perfume  of  the  flowers,  the  silence  of  the 
evening,  and  her  sweet  and  chaste  ecstasy  so  touched  me, 
that,  impelled  by  an  irresistible  force,  I  reached  my  lips 
towards  hers.  My  movement  was  instantaneous,  but  I 
failed  to  carry  out  my  purpose;  she  turned  away  her 
face,  and  my  lips  only  brushed  against  a  lock  of  her  hair, 
and  then  she  immediately  moved  away  and  seated  herself 
beside  her  mother.  After  forty  years  this  comes  back  to 


62  MY  MARRIAGE. 

me  as  if  it  had  just  happened.  Her  face  had  an  expres- 
sion neither  of  displeasure  nor  of  joy;  but  a  certain 
somewhat  of  sorrow  was  there,  which  seemed  an  answer 
to  all  that  I  had  been  saying.  When  she  perceived  that 
I  was  serious  and  a  little  mortified,  she  said  with  calm 
benignity — 

"  Do  you  like  verbena  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  ;  I  like  it  so  much." 

Then  quickly  rising,  she  cut  off  a  sprig,  put  it  in  the 
buttonhole  of  my  coat,  and  said — 

"  There,  that  looks  well !  " 

I  took  my  leave,  and  on  going  away  said  to  her  addio, 
and  not  a  rivederla. 

The  yth  of  December  1836,  on  the  Vigil  of  the  Imma- 
culate Conception  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  I  married  my 
good  Marina  in  the  Church  of  St  Ambrogio.  This  was,  in 
truth,  the  great  event  of  my  life,  and  that  which  exercised 
the  most  salutary  influence  over  my  studies,  over  my  peace, 
and  over  the  prosperity  and  morality  of  my  family.  We 
were  married  in  the  evening,  not  only  to  screen  ourselves 
from  the  curious,  but  also  because  our  joy  was  as  secret 
as  it  was  great.  Our  witnesses  were  Luigi  Sani,  son  of 
my  chief — he  for  whom  (as  I  hope  my  reader  has  not  for- 
gotten) I  used  when  a  boy  to  prepare  his  clay — and  Bar- 
tolomeo  Bianciardi,  who  was  a  workman  in  the  shop  of 
Sani.  At  our  modest  supper,  besides  the  witnesses,  were 
my  father  and  mother. 

My  new  existence  being  thus  assured,  I  began  to  think 
seriously  how  to  carry  out  and  give  real  form  to  the 
dream  of  all  my  life,  which  resolved  itself  into  this — to 
be  a  sculptor.  My  young  wife  was  timid,  and  sought  to 
persuade  me  that  I  was  very  well  as  I  was.  My  father 
openly  blamed  me,  and  kept  repeating  in  his  beloved 
Latin,  "Multi  sunt  vocati  pauci  vero  electi"  (Many  are 


COPYING  DESIGNS  AND  DRAWINGS.  63 

called  but  few  chosen).  This  I  knew  as  well  as  he; 
but  he  referred  it  to  my  desire  to  be  an  artist,  and  my 
ambition  did  not  reach  further  than  merely  to  be  a 
workman  in  marble.  My  mother  listened  to  me  kindly, 
and  half  sympathised  with  me  in  my  bold  hope  of  be- 
coming a  workman  in  some  sculptor's  studio.  To  my 
dear  wife  (for  she  above  all  others  was  nearest  my  heart, 
and  on  her  account  it  behoved  me  to  take  care  what  I 
was  doing)  I  kept  repeating — 

"  My  good  Marina,  listen.  I  risk  nothing.  I  do  not 
lose  my  skill  as  a  wood-carver,  and  if  I  only  study  sculp- 
ture in  the  off-hours  of  my  work,  this  very  study  may  be 
useful  to  me  as  a  carver ;  and  if  I  succeed  in  becoming  a 
sculptor,  I  shall  be  able  to  earn  more,  and  acquire  reputa- 
tion, and  enable  you  to  live  well  and  to  give  up  your 
trade.  Say,  would  not  this  be  a  good  thing  ?  " 

And  she  would  look  at  me  sadly,  and  gently  smiling 
would  say — 

"  But  we  are  very  well  off  as  we  are." 

In  the  meantime,  in  view  of  an  offer  of  Signor  Magi  to 
give  me  some  drawings  and  designs  to  copy,  I  went,  ac- 
cording to  our  agreement,  to  his  studio  in  the  Licei  di 
Candeli,  and  begged  him  to  fulfil  his  promise ;  and  a  few 
days  after  he  gave  me  some  heads  in  light  and  dark  from 
the  "  Transfiguration  "  of  Raphael,  which  I  copied,  work- 
ing at  them  early  in  the  morning  and  in  the  evenings. 
Having  finished  these  rapidly  and  to  his  satisfaction,  he 
gave  me  plate  by  plate  the  whole  course  of  anatomy  of  Pro- 
fessor Sabatelli,  done  in  red  chalk.  In  this  task  I  was  so 
interested  that  I  worked  till  very  late  at  night,  until  I  had 
attained  such  facility  and  knowledge,  that  after  sketching 
in  the  general  outlines,  I  at  once  finished  them  without 
requiring  to  make  a  rough  copy.  Magi  was  surprised 
that  I  was  able  so  easily  to  turn  off  every  day  a  copy  of 


64  ANXIETIES  AND   STRUGGLES. 

one  of  these  drawings  of  legs,  arms,  and  torsi,  which 
were  of  life  size.  Afterwards  he  gave  me  a  number  of 
the  so-called  Accademie,  which  are  nude  studies  of  the 
entire  figure — and  these,  too,  I  drew  rapidly  and  with 
increasing  taste;  and  so  enamoured  was  I  of  them, 
that  I  afterwards  repeated  them  at  the  shop  upon  any 
fragment  of  paper  or  wood,  drawing  them  in  all  their 
attitudes  from  memory. 

I  made,  as  I  was  well  aware,  very  rapid  progress,  and 
I  longed  for  the  moment  when  the  master  should  say  to 
me  that  it  was  time  to  begin  to  model.  In  fact,  he  soon 
suggested  this.  However,  as  it  was  necessary  to  have  a 
certain  apparatus  and  help,  I  could  only  begin  to  model 
in  the  studio  of  Magi.  It  was  therefore  arranged  that  I 
should  go  to  him  during  all  the  off-hours  of  my  work ; 
and  this  I  did.  I  will  not  stop  to  note  the  number  of 
hands,  feet,  and  heads  that  he  made  me  copy ;  I  will  only 
say  that  my  life  was  most  exhausting,  and  my  wife,  poor 
dear,  had  to  suffer  for  it.  She  had  to  wait  for  dinner, 
and  I  was  often  so  late,  that  I  had  only  time  to  swallow 
a  little  soup  and  a  piece  of  bread,  and  then  to  rush  back 
to  the  shop. 

When  I  remember  this  life  of  mine,  with  its  painful 
anxieties  and  struggles,  it  makes  me  angry  to  see  some 
of  the  youths  of  to-day,  with  every  opportunity  and  all 
their  time,  and  without  a  care  in  the  world,  either  for 
their  family  or  any  thing  or  person,  who  rot  in  idleness, 
assume  airs  of  scorn  for  others,  even  for  their  masters,  and 
then  swear  out  against  adverse  fortune,  and  deplore  their 
genius  crushed  and  unrecognised,  and  similar  insipidi- 
ties. My  two  hours  of  rest  during  the  day,  which  were 
from  one  to  three  o'clock,  were  thus  occupied  :  one  hour 
was  given  to  study,  and  the  other  was  but  just  sufficient 
to  enable  me  to  go  from  my  shop  in  the  Piazza  di  San 


A   HOME-PICTURE.  65 

Biagio  to  the  Liceo'di  Candeli,  and  there  take  my  dinner, 
and  then  return  to  the  shop.  I  was  punctual  too,  for  I 
was  determined  to  do  my  duty,  and  to  keep  my  promise 
to  my  wife  never  to  allow  my  study  of  sculpture  to  inter- 
fere with  my  regular  occupation. 

It  was  indeed  a  life  full  of  agitations,  anxieties,  fears, 
and  privations,  but  animated  with  what  joyous  hopes  ! 
Every  evening  when  I  came  back  from  my  work,  I  de- 
voted myself  at  home  to  making  anatomical  drawings 
from  casts,  while  my  wife  did  her  ironing  in  the  same 
room  ;  and  I  drew  until  the  hour  of  supper  came.  It  was 
a  pure  sweet  pleasure  to  me  to  see  that  strong  and  lively 
creature  coming  and  going  with  her  flat-irons  from  the 
fireplace  to  the  table,  and  gaily  ironing,  and  singing 

"  Muskets  and  broadswords  ;  fire — fire— poum  !  " x 

as  she  smoothed  and  beat  with  the  flat-iron  on  the  linen, 
while  her  mother  sat  silently  spinning  in  the  corner. 
Truly  that  blessed  woman  was  right  when  she  said,  "  We 
are  so  happy  as  we  are  " — for  one  of  the  purest  joys 
that  cheers  my  present  life  is  the  memory  of  those 
days.  No  joy  is  purer  than  that  which  comes  from 
the  memory  of  that  past  time  of  work,  of  study,  and  of 
domestic  peace.  Those  days  of  narrow  means  and  agita- 
tions now  shine  upon  me  with  a  serene  and  lovely  light ; 
and  I  bless  the  Lord,  who  softens  by  His  grace  the 
bitterness  of  poverty  and  the  harshness  of  fatigue,  and 
so  preserves  this  sweetness  of  remembrance  in  the  heart, 
that  neither  time  nor  fortune  has  the  power  to  extinguish 
it,  or  even  to  diminish  it. 

In  the  opinion  of  my  master,  Signor  Magi,  I  had  ar- 
rived at  that  point  in  my  studies  that  I  could  be  per- 
mitted  to   make   portraits  from    life.     Accordingly   he 
1  ' '  Schioppi,  sciabola  ;  fuoco — puhm  !  " 
E 


66  STATUETTE   OF   SANTA   FILOMENA. 

proposed  that  I  should  find  some  friend  who  had  time 
and  patience  to  stand  for  me  as  a  model.  I  soon  found 
one,  and  his  was  the  first  bust  I  modelled.  The  likeness 
was  good,  and  Magi  and  the  others  began  to  have  a 
strong  faith  in  my  future.  Encouraged  by  this  trial  from 
life,  I  determined  to  make  a  statuette  of  small  dimen- 
sions. The  subject  which  was  given  to  me  by  Magi  was 
Santa  Filomena  standing  with  her  head  and  eyes  turned 
to  heaven,  one  hand  on  her  breast  and  the  other  holding 
a  bunch  of  lilies,  while  the  anchor,  the  sign  of  her  mar- 
tyrdom, lay  at  her  feet.  The  statuette  was  liked ;  and  I 
pleased  myself  with  executing  it  in  wood,  and  finished  it 
with  great  care  of  handling  and  delicacy  of  detail.  It 
was  exhibited  at  the  Accademia  delle  Belle  Arti  in  1838; 
was  praised  by  distinguished  artists,  such  as  Benvenuti 
and  Bartolini ;  and  the  latter  recalled  it  to  me  when, 
some  time  afterwards,  I  went  to  ask  for  work  in  his 
studio,  and  said — 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  if  I  had  any  work  to  give 
you  to  do,  I  would  give  it  with  pleasure,  for  I  have  seen 
that  statuette  of  yours,  which  shows  that  you  have  in- 
telligence and  love." 

My  Santa  Filomena  was  liked — liked  by  artists  and  by 
those  who  were  not  artists ;  but  no  purchaser  presented 
himself,  and  I  was  anxious  to  sell  it,  not  only  for  the 
sake  of  a  little  money,  which  would  have  been  very 
opportune,  but  still  more  for  the  satisfaction  of  my  amore 
proprio  as  an  artist.  But  the  purchaser  did  not  come, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  place  my  statuette  in  the  magazine 
of  antiquities  of  the  Brothers  Pacetti,  on  the  ground-floor 
of  the  Borghese  Palace  in  the  Via  del  Palagio.  It  did 
not  long  remain  here,  however.  It  was  frequented  by 
many  strangers,  who  found  there  a  great  number  of 
things  which  were  curious,  and  some  of  which  were 


SANTA   FILOMENA.  6/ 

really  beautiful.  In  this  magazine  there  were,  first  of  all, 
old  pictures  of  our  Florentine  school :  whence  they  had 
been  excavated  I  know  not,  but  the  exportation  of  them 
out  of  the  country  was  not  as  difficult  as  it  now  is. 
There  were  also  terre  cotte  of  the  school  of  Luca  della 
Robbia,  statuettes  in  bronze,  marble  busts  of  the  Roman 
school,  to  ornament  halls  or  staircases  in  palaces;  chests 
of  ebony  inlaid  with  pietra  dura,  ivory,  tortoise-shell,  &c. 
Specially  rich  was  it  in  Venetian  glass,  antique  plates, 
enamels,  laces,  &c.,  &c.  There,  among  all  these  anti- 
quities, figured  my  Santa  Filomena,  which  seemed  more 
pure  and  white  from  contrast  with  all  the  chests  of 
drawers,  and  stuffs,  and  tapestries  which  formed  its 
background. 

A  Russian  gentleman  asked  the  price ;  and  it  being 
stated  to  him,  without  refusing  to  take  it,  he  made  a 
strange  condition  of  purchase.  He  would  not  have  it  a 
saint,  and  in  consequence  he  exacted  that  all  the  attributes 
which  belonged  to  Santa  Filomena  should  be  removed. 
I  took  great  pains  to  make  him  see  that  this  could  not 
be  done,  and  that  the  statuette  would  in  so  doing  lose 
much  of  its  artistic  value.  If  the  lilies  were  taken  from 
the  hand,  it  would  be  perfectly  meaningless  and  idle,  and 
would  injure  the  expression  of  the  figure.  He  seemed 
to  a  certain  extent  persuaded,  but  he  still  persisted  that 
he  would  not  have  it  as  a  saint ;  and  after  thinking  for 
a  long  time  how  he  could  change  the  name,  and  seeing 
that  there  was  an  anchor  at  her  feet,  he  said  that  it 
might  be  called  Hope.  I  remained  between  yes  and 
no,  and  only  observed  to  him  that  Hope  ought  to  hold 
the  anchor  in  her  hand,  and  not  leave  it  on  the  ground  as 
if  she  had  forgotten  it. 

"No  matter,"  he  answered,  "I  insist  on  calling  it 
Hope ;  but  the  lilies  must  be  removed." 


68  CHRIST  ON   THE  CROSS. 

I  answered  that  they  would  rather  help  the  subject, 
and  it  might  be  called  The  Virgin,  Hope. 

"  Oh!  test  trh-bien,"  he  replied. 

There  remained  the  crown  of  roses  on  her  head,  but 
in  regard  to  this  everything  was  easy.  Roses  are  the 
symbol  of  joy,  and  Hope  in  the  purity  of  its  aspirations 
is  crowned  with  joy.  Truly  that  day  I  was  a  more 
eloquent  orator  than  artist. 

The  Russian,  quite  content  (and  I  more  than  he), 
counted  me  out  the  price  of  the  statuette  in  golden 
napoleons,  and  before  it  was  boxed  up,  had  inscribed 
on  the  base  of  the  Filomena  these  words — La  Vera 
Speranza. 

After  this  work,  Magi  advised  me  to  begin  to  work  in 
marble.  This  cost  me  little  trouble,  practised  as  I  was 
in  carving  wood,  which,  though  it  is  a  softer  material,  is 
more  ungrateful  and  irresponsive.  After  a  few  weeks' 
practice,  I  was  able  to  execute  some  works,  and  to 
assure  myself  that  henceforward,  whenever  I  wished,  I 
could  go  from  one  material  to  the  other.  Remember, 
however,  that  I  then  did  not  even  dream  of  becoming 
an  artist.  I  only  hoped  to  succeed  as  a  workman  in 
marble,  as  I  then  was  in  wood.  The  idea  of  being  an 
artist  came  to  me  afterwards,  slowly  and  by  degrees — the 
appetite  growing,  as  the  saying  is,  by  eating ;  or  I  should 
rather  say,  I  was  driven  and  drawn  to  it,  out  of  pique 
and  self-assertion  (punto  d'  onore).  But  let  us  proceed 
regularly. 

About  this  time  Signer  Sani  received  an  order  from 
certain  nuns — I  do  not  now  remember  whom — to  make 
a  Christ  upon  the  cross,  which  was  to  be  of  small  size 
and  executed  in  boxwood.  Naturally  Sani  thought  of 
me,  and  gave  it  to  me  to  execute.  I  set  to  work  upon 
it  with  such  love  and  such  a  desire  to  do  well,  that  I 


THE   "CHRIST"   SOLD.  69 

neglected  nothing.  After  making  studies  of  parts  from 
life,  and  pilfering  here  and  there,  I  succeeded  in  making 
an  ensemble,  movement,  character,  and  expression  ap- 
propriate to  the  subject,  and  this  I  executed  with  patience 
and  intelligence.  But  the  excellence  of  the  work  was 
superior  to  the  importance  of  the  commission.  Let  me 
explain  myself.  The  time  it  cost  me,  and  consequently 
the  price  I  was  paid  by  my  principal  for  my  weeks  of 
labour,  far  exceeded  that  which  had  been  agreed  upon 
by  the  persons  giving  the  commission.  Sani,  a  little 
grudgingly,  but  still  feeling  that  it  did  honour  to  his 
shop,  showed  himself  half  pleased  and  half  annoyed; 
and  when  other  persons  afterwards  came  to  urge  forward 
the  work  on  which  he  was  engaged  for  them,  and  praised 
this  Christ  of  mine,  Sani  took  all  the  praise  to  himself 
as  if  it  belonged  to  him.  Nor  was  he  to  blame  for  this. 
The  Christ,  however,  on  account  of  the  difference  of 
price,  remained  in  his  shop  shut  up  in  his  chest.  But 
as  it  had  been  somewhat  noised  about,  many  came 
expressly  to  see  it.  Among  these  was  the  Cavaliere 
Professore  Giuseppe  Martelli,  who  lately  died,  and  who 
having  seen  it,  told  Sani  that  he  hoped  to  induce  the 
Cavaliere  Priore  Emanuel  Fenzi  to  buy  it.  He  was 
then  putting  in  order  the  principal  suite  of  rooms  in  the 
palace  of  the  Via  San  Gallo  for  the  wedding  of  the 
Cavaliere  Fenzi's  eldest  son,  Orazio,  with  the  noble 
Lady  Emilia  de'  Conte  della  Gherardesca,  and  he  hoped 
to  place  this  Christ  at  the  head  of  the  bed  of  this  young 
couple.  And  this  in  fact  happened.  The  Christ  was 
seen  and  bought,  and  I  believe  that  it  is  still  in  that 
house.  I  saw  it  there  myself  when  poor  Orazio,  who 
honoured  me  with  his  friendship,  was  alive. 

I  shall  again  refer  to  this  Christ ;  but  for  the  present, 
let  us  go  on.     I  had  a  great  desire  to  give  up  once  for 


70  WORK  AT  MAGI'S. 

all  this  working  in  wood — not  because  I  thought  that 
material  less  worthy  than  marble,  for  the  excellence  of  a 
work  depends  upon  the  skill  and  knowledge  of  the  artist, 
and  not  upon  the  material  which  he  has  used.  Very 
worthless  statues  have  been  seen,  and  still  may  be  seen, 
in  beautiful  marble,  and,  vice  versa,  beautiful  statues  in 
simple  terra  cotta  or  wood. 

"You  will  be  noble  if  you  are  virtuous,"  answered 
D'Azeglio  to  his  son,  when  the  latter  asked  him,  with 
the  ingenuousness  of  a  child,  if  their  family  was  noble. 

Let  us  then  understand  that  the  nobility  of  any  one 
is  founded  upon  his  deeds,  and  the  excellence  of  a  work 
depends  upon  the  work  itself,  and  not  upon  the  material. 
We  shall  return  to  this  consideration  hereafter ;  now  let 
us  proceed.  I  say  that  I  wished  to  give  up  working  in 
wood,  because  it  was  my  business  at  the  shop  to  make 
all  sorts  of  little  things,  such  as  candlesticks,  cornices, 
masks,  &c.  Naturally  it  fell  to  me  to  make  them ;  and 
not  always — on  the  contrary,  very  rarely — it  happened 
that  I  had  a  Christ,  an  angel,  or  anything  of  that  kind 
to  execute :  and  on  this  account  I  was  irritable  and  iras- 
cible (except  when  I  was  at  home)  with  everybody,  and 
specially  with  myself. 

At  Magi's  I  had  as  much  work  as  I  wished.  I  had 
already  finished  for  him  two  busts, — one  of  the  Grand 
Duke  in  Roman  drapery,  according  to  the  style  then 
in  vogue  among  the  academic  sculptors,  who  dressed  in 
Roman  or  Greek  costume  the  portrait  of  their  own  uncle 
or  godfather ;  the  other  of  an  old  woman,  whom  I  did 
not  know.  Work  enough  I  had ;  but  naturally  I  wished 
to  earn  something  by  it,  and  this  was  soon  spoken  of. 
I  understand  very  well  that  the  master  has  a  kind  of 
right  to  all  the  profits  of  the  first  works  of  his  pupil ;  but 
with  me  this  went  on  so  long,  that  at  last  he  saw  its 


DEATH  OF  MY  DAUGHTER — POEM.     /I 

impropriety;  and  he  proposed  to  engage  me  to  finish  the 
group  of  Charity  which  he  had  made  for  the  Chapel  of 
the  Poggio  Imperiale,  as  a  substitute  for  that  wonderful 
work  of  Bartolini,  which  is  still  admired  in  the  Palatine 
Gallery.  But  the  proposition  of  Magi  was  in  every  way 
impossible  to  accept,  as  he  only  agreed  to  pay  me  when 
the  work  was  completed — that  is  to  say,  I  and  my  family 
were  to  go  for  at  least  a  year  without  anything  to  eat. 

I  tried  here  and  there ;  but  I  could  not  make  a  satis- 
factory arrangement,  and  I  had  to  resign  myself  to  the 
making  of  candlesticks.  I  had  now  become  a  father. 
My  wife  had  given  me  a  little  girl,  whom  I  lost  after- 
wards when  she  was  seven  years  old;  and  as  I  have 
never  made  mention  of  my  dear  angel,  let  me  embellish 
the  meagreness  of  my  prose  with  the  charming  verses  of 
Giovanni  Battista  Niccolini,  who  then  honoured  me  with 
his  friendship,  and  which  he  wrote  with  his  own  hand 
under  the  portrait  of  my  little  child.  They  are  as 
follows  : — 

Few  were  the  evils  that  Life  brought  to  thee, 
Dear  little  one,  ere  thou  from  us  wast  torn, 
Even  as  a  rosebud  plucked  in  early  morn. 
Tears  thou  hast  left,  and  many  a  memory, 
To  those  who  gave  thee  birth, 
But  thou  from  Life's  short  dream  on  earth 
Hast  waked  the  perfect  bliss  of  heaven  to  see ; 
And  thou  art  safe  in  port,  and  in  the  tempest  we. 

Pochi  a  te  della  vita 

Furono  i  mali,  o  pargoletta,  e  mori 

Come  rose  ch'  e  colta  ai  primi  albori. 

Ognor  memoria  e  pianto 

Al  genitor  sarai,  benche  per  sempre 

Dal  sogno  della  vita  in  ciel  gia  desta. 

Tu  stai  nel  porto  e  noi  siamo  in  tempesta. 


CHAPTER    V. 


A  WARNING  TO  YOUNG  ARTISTS— PROFESSOR  CAMBl's  PROPOSITIONS — A  FINAN- 
CIAL PROBLEM  t  TO  INCREASE  GAIN  BY  DIMINISHING  THE  MEANS  THAT 
PRODUCE  IT  —  I  LEAVE  SANl's  SHOP  TO  HAVE  MORE  TIME  AND  LIBERTY 
TO  STUDY — AN  IMITATION  IS  NOT  SO  BAD,  BUT  A  FALSIFICATION  IS  INDEED 
AN  UGLY  THING— THE  MARCHESA  POLDI  AND  A  CASKET,  SUPPOSED  TO  BE 
AN  ANTIQUE  — HOW  A  MASTER  SHOULD  BE — THE  DEATH  OF  MY  MOTHER, 
SEPTEMBER  1840— OPINION  OF  THE  ACADEMY — THE  "TIPSY  BACCHANTE" 
— A  DIVIDED  VOTE — THE  "  CARIATIDI  "  OF  THE  ROSSINI  THEATRE  AT 
LEGHORN. 


]'ET  us  consider  for  a  moment  the  state  of  my 
mind  at  this  time.  I  felt  within  me  an 
unconquerable  inclination  for  the  study  of 
sculpture  ;  and  even  as  a  child,  I  gave  vent 


to  my  feeling  as  well  as  I  was  able.  As  L  increased  in 
years,  the  more  this  desire  was  repressed  and  opposed, 
whether  by  my  poverty  or  the  aversion  of  my  father, 
the  more  it  developed  into  a  settled  passion.  But  after 
the  progress  I  had  made  in  my  studies  gave  me  a  right 
to  hope,  and  my  masters  had  encouraged  me,  and  I  had 
acquired  some  skill  in  working  the  marble,  no  work  was 
given  me  to  do.  Nor  was  this  all.  I  was  humiliated  at 
last,  being  told  by  a  workman  to  whom  I  applied — who 
was  the  administrator  of  the  studio  of  a  foreign  artist — 
that  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  there,  because  the 
work  in  that  studio  was  so  difficult  as  to  be  beyond  my 
ability.  I  swallowed  this  bitter  mouthful,  but  I  did  not 
despair.  Not  only  did  I  not  despair,  but  I  determined,  by 


RIVALSHIP  AND   CRITICISM.  73 

study  and  force  of  will,  to  prove  that  I  was  right  and  they 
were  wrong.  Add  to  this  that  I  was  not  alone;  I  had  a 
wife  and  children.  But  no  matter.  Since  the  first  prophe- 
cies that  I  never  should  be  good  for  anything  as  a  wood- 
carver  had  proved  false,  this  also,  which  was  both  a 
humiliation  and  an  insult,  might  prove  to  be  untrue. 
My  poor  wife  saw  that  my  mind  was  greatly  disturbed, 
and,  with  her  sweetness,  strove  to  calm  me  by  representing 
to  me  that  we  were  fairly  well  off  and  without  troubles, 
and  exhorted  me  to  drive  from  my  head  a  thought  which 
was  rendering  my  life  bitter  to  me.  These  words,  dic- 
tated by  love,  made  me  still  more  unhappy ;  but  dissimu- 
lating and  caressing  her,  I  told  her  that  she  was  right. 

One  day,  in  the  studio  of  Magi,  I  and  another  young 
man  were  modelling  together  a  man's  torso  which  had 
been  cast  from  nature.  A  friend  of  Magi,  a  painter,  as 
he  passed  by  us  paused,  and  after  looking  at  our  two 
copies,  said,  turning  to  my  rival  and  patting  him  gently 
on  the  shoulder,  "  I  am  delighted :  this  is  an  artist ! " 
Then  turning  to  me  with  an  expression  of  regret,  he  said, 
"A  rivederla."  My  good  reader,  do  you  think  that  made 
me  despair  ?  No,  by  the  Lord  !  I  tell  you  rather  that 
these  words  were  seared  upon  my  brain  as  with  a  red- 
hot  iron,  and  there  they  still  remain — and  they  did  me 
a  great  deal  of  good.  The  Professor  who  spoke  them 
(yes,  he  was  a  Professor),  three  years  afterwards  em- 
braced me  in  the  Accademia  delle  Belle  Arti  before  my 
"Abel."  My  rival?  My  rival  is  perfectly  sound  in 
health,  and  is  fatter  and  more  vigorous  than  I  am,  but 
he  is  not  a  sculptor.  So,  my  dear  young  artist,  courage  ! 
in  the  face  of  poverty,  and  opposition,  and  abuse,  and 
contempt,  and  even  (remember  this)  of  blandishments 
and  flatteries,  which  are  more  destructive  than  even 
abuse  and  contempt. 


74  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS. 

But  be  careful  to  consider  well  what  your  vocation 
really  is,  and  do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  deluded  by 
false  appearances.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  your 
calling  should  be  imperious,  tenacious,  persistent;  that 
it  should  enter  into  all  your  thoughts;  that  it  should 
give  its  form  and  pressure  to  all  your  feelings ;  that  it 
should  not  abandon  you  even  in  your  sleep ;  and  that 
it  should  drive  from  your  memory  your  hour  of  dinner, 
your  appointments,  your  ease,  your  pleasures.  If,  when 
you  take  a  walk  in  the  country,  the  hills  and  groves  do 
not  awaken  in  you  in  the  least  the  idea  that  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  own  them  ;  but,  instead  of  this,  if  you  feel 
yourself  enamoured  by  the  beautiful  harmony  of  nature, 
with  its  varied  outlines,  and  swelling  bosoms,  and  slopes 
sadly  illuminated  by  the  setting  sun,  and  all  seems  to 
you  an  exquisite  picture — then  hope.  If  at  the  theatre 
you  see  a  drama  represented,  and  you  feel  impelled  to 
judge  within  yourself  whether  this  or  that  character  is 
well  played  —  whether  the  gestures,  the  expression  of 
face,  and  the  inflections  of  voice  are  such  as  properly 
belong  to  the  character,  and  accord  with  the  affections 
that  move  him,  or  the  passions  which  agitate  him — then 
hope.  If,  while  you  are  walking  along,  you  see  the  face 
of  a  beautiful  woman,  and  if  it  does  not  immediately 
awaken  in  you  the  idea  of  a  statue  with  its  name  and 
expression,  but,  on  the  contrary,  you  idly  or  improperly 
admire  it — then  fear.  If  in  reading  of  a  pathetic  inci- 
dent you  feel  your  heart  grow  tender ;  if  the  triumph  of 
pride  and  arrogance  rouse  your  scorn — then  hope.  And 
if  you  do  not  feel  your  faculties  debilitated  by  the  long 
and  thorny  path  of  study,  but,  on  the  contrary,  tempered 
and  strengthened  every  day  by  constant  and  patient 
labour,  then  hope — hope — hope.  If  you  have  property, 
attend  to  the  management  of  it.  If  you  are  poor,  learn 


TRIENNIAL   COMPETITION.  75 

some  trade.     It  is  better  to  be  a  good  carpenter  than  a 
bad  artist. 

In  my  own  case,  I  armed  myself  with  stout  patience, 
and  pursued  my  ordinary  work  of  wood-carving;  and 
when  I  returned  home  in  the  evening,  I  applied  myself 
to  study,  and,  in  the  simple  and  frank  conversation  of 
my  wife,  felt  a  calm  come  over  my  agitated  mind  ;  and 
my  powers,  enervated  by  ungrateful  labour,  were  thus 
restored.  But  the  opportunity  which  was  to  launch 
me  once  and  for  ever  in  art  was  already  near,  and  I 
seized  upon  it  with  all  my  strength,  hope,  and  love. 
Many  and  sad  were  the  first  steps  against  opposition 
and  division ;  but  I  pushed  on,  and  I  have  never  stopped 
since. 

Professor  Ulisse  Cambi,  who  had  seen  me  modelling 
in  Magi's  studio,  and  who  had  his  own  studio  close  by, 
now  began  to  talk  to  me  about  the  triennial  competition 
in  sculpture,  which  took  place  precisely  in  this  year,  and 
he  proposed  that  I  should  go  in  for  it,  and  hoped  that  I 
should  succeed;  but  even  if  I  did  not,  he  said,  at  all 
events  the  study  incident  to  it  would  be  no  loss  to  me. 
Flattered  by  this  suggestion,  which  showed  that  he  had 
some  confidence  in  me,  I  replied  that  I  would  think  of. 
it,  and  would  speak  about  it  to  Magi,  who  might  possibly 
lend  me  one  of  his  rooms  which  he  did  not  use,  and  also 
give  me  his  assistance.  I  spoke  to  him  on  the  subject, 
but  I  did  not  find  him  at  all  disposed  to  favour  the 
project.  In  the  first  place,  he  told  me  that  he  could  not 
give  me  a  room  ;  then  that  he  did  not  think  that  I  had 
gone  on  sufficiently  far  in  my  studies  to  be  able  to 
attempt  such  a  competition ;  and  finally,  that  he  would 
not  undertake  to  direct  my  work.  This  answer  having 
been  repeated  to  Cambi,  he  told  me  that  he  was  con- 
vinced that  I  should  succeed,  and  that  if  Magi  would 


76  MODEL   OF   "JUDGMENT   OF   PARIS." 

neither  give  me  a  room  nor  superintend  my  work,  he 
would  do  both — and  this  he  did. 

The  subject  of  the  basso-relievo  was  "  The  Judgment 
of  Paris,"  and  required  five  figures — Paris,  Venus,  Min- 
erva, Juno,  and  Mercury.  I  made  a  sketch  ;  but  it  did 
not  please  Cambi,  and  taking  a  piece  of  paper,  he 
sketched  with  a  pen  a  new  composition,  saying,  "  That, 
I  think,  will  do  very  well."  I  then  made  a  new  sketch 
founded  upon  this  by  Cambi.  Some  one  will  now  say, 
"  This  is  not  right ;  you  ought  to  have  worked  out  an  idea 
of  your  own,  and  not  one  of  your  master's."  Agreed; 
but  these  considerations  will  come  afterwards.  For  the 
present,  let  us  go  on. 

In  the  meantime  it  was  necessary  to  come  to  a  de- 
cision, and  to  take  into  consideration  that  the  work 
required  much  time,  and  could  not  be  completed  in  my 
off-hours,  as  I  had  hitherto  done  with  my  other  studies, 
and  also  that  money  would  be  required  to  pay  the 
models ;  so  that,  as  it  would  be  necessary  to  give  less 
time  to  my  ordinary  work,  I  should  earn  less,  while  I 
should  have  need  of  more  money  in  order  to  pay  the 
models.  The  problem  was  a  difficult  one,  and  at  first 
sight  not  easily  solved.  The  reader  will  remember  the 
Brothers  Pacetti,  in  whose  shop  I  had  sold  the  Santa 
Filomena.  One  of  these,  Tonino,  had  often  said  to  me 
that  if  I  would  work  for  them  they  would  give  me  any- 
thing to  do  that  I  might  prefer — whether  cornices  rich 
with  figures  and  putti  and  arabesques,  or  coffers  and 
chests  all'  antica,  or  whatever  I  liked  with  figures,  with 
the  prices  agreed  upon,  and  liberty  to  work  when  and 
how  I  liked.  The  offer  was  excellent,  as  you  see ;  but 
it  involved  leaving  my  old  master  Sani,  and  I  was 
affectionately  attached  to  him,  and  he  and  all  in  the 
shop  were  attached  to  me;  and  on  this  account  I  felt 


MODELLING   BAS-RELIEF   FOR   COMPETITION.      77 

repugnance  to  leaving  the  place  and  the  persons  who  had 
helped  me  on  when  I  was  a  child.  So,  thanking  Pacetti, 
I  repeatedly  refused  his  offer.  But  now  it  was  necessary 
to  come  to  a  decision  between  two  alternatives — either  to 
abandon  the  competition  and  remain  in  the  shop,  or  to 
abandon  the  shop  and  accept  the  offer  of  the  Brothers 
Pacetti.  I  spoke  of  this  to  my  good  Marina,  who  at  first 
did  not  look  upon  it  at  all  favourably,  fearing  that  if  I 
left  the  shop,  which  had  always  given  me  work,  I  should 
find  myself  left  in  the  lurch  by  the  other,  in  spite  of  all 
the  fine  promises  of  gain  and  liberty  and  the  like.  But 
at  last,  seeing  that  I  was  decided,  she  contented  her- 
self with  saying,  "  Do  as  you  think  best."  O  blessed 
woman,  may  God  reward  thee ! 

When  I  stated  to  old  Sani  my  determination  to  leave 
his  shop,  angry  as  a  hornet,  he  said,  "  Do  as  you  like," 
and  spoke  to  me  no  more  the  whole  day.  The  next 
day,  however,  more  softened,  but  still  severe,  he  asked 
me  the  reason  of  this  strange  resolution,  and  I  told  him. 
Then  he  proposed  an  increase  of  salary  and  a  diminution 
of  work,  and  at  last  agreed  (I  must  do  justice  to  this  good 
man)  to  allow  me  to  have  all  the  hours  which  were  neces- 
sary for  the  competition.  But  I  had  already  made  my 
contract  with  Pacetti,  had  decided  upon  a  work  after 
my  own  choice,  arranged  the  room  given  me  by  Pacetti, 
and  which  was  the  Hospital  for  Horses  in  the  old  stable 
of  the  Palazzo  Borghese,  and  I  could  not  withdraw 
from  it. 

I  began  to  model  the  basso-relievo  for  the  competition 
in  the  studio  Cambi,  and  my  intaglio  work  I  did  in  the 
little  studio  or  stable  of  the  Palazzo  Borghese.  The 
work  that  I  had  undertaken  for  Pacetti  was  curious.  It 
had  every  recommendation  except  that  of  honesty.  Let 
me  explain.  There  was  at  this  time  a  great  passion 


78  I   CARVE  A   SEICENTO   COFFER. 

among  strangers  for  antique  objects :  great  chests,  cor- 
nices, and  coffers,  provided  they  were  old,  were  sought 
for  and  purchased  ;  but  modern  works,  though  of  incon- 
testable merit,  no  one  cared  for,  and  they  brought  very 
low  prices.  It  came  into  the  head  either  of  Pacetti  or 
myself — I  do  not  remember  which — to  make  something 
in  imitation  of  the  antique  (and  so  far  it  was  all  right), 
and  to  sell  it  for  antique,  and  here  was  the  maggot. 

It  was  settled,  then,  that  I  should  make  a  coffer  or 
chest  in  the  beautiful  and  rich  style  of  the  Seicento 
— rectangular  of  form  and  not  high.  The  cover  was 
slightly  pointed,  with  various  arabesque  ornaments,  and 
in  the  centre  of  this  cover  in  the  front  I  carved  a  Medusa 
crying  out  loudly;  and  by  looking  at  myself  in  the  mirror, 
I  succeeded  in  giving  a  good  deal  of  truth  to  the  sad 
expression  of  this  head — indeed  the  muscles  of  the  face 
and  the  eyes  had  such  a  truth  of  expression  that  I  would 
not  promise  to  do  as  well  again  even  now.  This  is  the 
portion  of  the  work  which  is  really  original ;  all  the  divi- 
sions in  panels,  and  the  external  faces,  were  an  abso- 
lute counterfeit  representation  of  the  ornaments  on  the 
bookshelves  in  the  Libreria  Laurenziana,  which  were 
carved  by  Tasso  the  carver,  the  friend  of  Benvenuto 
Cellini,  and,  as  some  say,  were  designed  by  Cellini  him- 
self. Every  precaution  was  taken — the  wood  was  antique 
but  not  worm-eaten,  so  that  I  could  carve  with  delicacy 
all  the  ornaments,  dragons,  and  chimerae ;  and  when  it 
was  finished,  here  and  there  a  worm-hole  was  counter- 
feited and  filled  up  with  wax,  but  so  as  to  be  visible. 
The  hinges  and  ironwork  were  also  imitations  of  the 
antique,  which  were  first  oxidated  and  then  repolished. 
In  a  word,  it  was  a  veritable  trap,  and  I  give  an  account 
of  it  for  the  sake  of  the  truth  ;  and  I  hope  that  the  first 
statement  of  this  falsification  does  not  come  from  me. 


COFFER  IS  ATTRIBUTED  TO  CELLINI.    79 

But  however  this  may  be,  we  laughed  at  it,  and  it  amused 
me  then,  though  now  it  displeases  me. 

This  coffer  was  seen  by  many  persons,  some  of  whom 
asked  the  price ;  but  Pacetti  set  a  high  value  upon  it, 
and  he  had  spread  about  some  sort  of  story  that  it 
was  a  work  of  Benvenuto  Cellini's.  Finally,  after  some 
time,  the  Marchioness  Poldi  of  Milan,  who  had  gone  to 
Florence  to  urge  Bartolini  to  finish  the  famous  group 
of  Astyanax  which  he  was  making  for  her,  saw  this  coffer, 
liked  it,  and  took  it  for  an  antique ;  but  in  regard  to  the 
excellence  of  the  work,  and  above  all  the  name  of  the 
artist  to  whom  it  was  sought  to  attribute  it,  she  deter- 
mined to  consult  Bartolini  himself,  and  if  his  judgment 
was  favourable,  to  buy  it  for  the  price  that  was 'asked, 
but  which  naturally  was  not  what  I  had  been  paid.  Bar- 
tolini decided  that  it  was  one  of  the  finest  works  of  Tasso 
the  intagliatore,  made  after  the  designs  of  Benvenuto 
Cellini ;  and  the  Marchioness  Poldi  then  bought  the 
coffer,  and  carried  it  to  Milan. 

Four  years  later,  I  finished  my  "Abel"  and  "Cain." 
I  had  made  a  name,  which  had  been  rendered  still 
more  attractive  by  the  curious  story  of  my  origin  ; 
for  all  of  a  sudden,  while  nobody  knew  who  I  was,  I 
seemed  to  be  an  artist  who  had  been  born  one  morning 
and  grown  up  before  night.  The  only  thing  that  was 
reported  about  me  was,  that  I  had  never  studied,  and 
that  I  had  suddenly  leaped  from  the  bench  of  the  intag- 
liatore  on  to  that  of  the  sculptor.  The  reader  who  has 
thus  far  followed  me,  and  who  will  continue  with  me  up 
to  the  completion  of  my  "  Abel "  and  "  Cain,"  will  see 
with  what  heedlessness  these  reports  were  propagated. 
Let  us  go  on.  The  Marchioness  Poldi  came  to  my 
studio,  and  having  heard  the  story  of  my  life,  which  was 
in  the  hands  of  all,  and  was  written  in  that  easy,  attrac- 


80  IN   THE   STUDIO   CAMBI. 

tive,  and  poetic  style  of  which  Farini  is  master,  told  me 
that  she  possessed  a  magnificent  work  in  intaglio  by  the 
famous  intagliatore  Tasso,  and  said  that  this  work  was 
imagined  and  executed  with  such  grace  and  excellence 
that  it  might  truly  be  called  a  work  of  art,  and  she  added 
that  these  were  the  very  words  of  Bartolini. 

The  reader  may  imagine  whether  I  was  flattered  by 
this ;  and  in  consequence  of  this  praise,  as  well  as  to 
pluck  out  this  thorn  from  my  heart  by  a  confession  of 
my  fault,  I  said,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Signora  Marchesa, 
but  that  work  was  made  by  me." 

The  Marchioness  looked  at  me  with  a  kind  of  wonder, 
and  then  said,  "  No  matter — nay,  all  the  better." 

I  begged  her  not  to  tell  Bartolini. 

But  to  return  to  the  point  where  I  left  off  to  make 
this  digression  about  the  Marchioness  Poldi.  Let  me 
say,  that  if  in  my  studio  I  enjoyed  complete  liberty  of 
imagination  and  action,  and  if  my  works  met  with  such 
success  and  were  so  praised  as  to  give  me  consola- 
tion, matters  did  not  go  on  so  well  in  the  studio  Cambi, 
where  I  was  modelling  for  the  competition.  Scarcely 
had  I  put  my  foot  into  that  studio  when  I  became  timid, 
embarrassed,  and  almost  fearful ;  for  the  Professor  would 
not  leave  me  free  to  see  and  execute  from  the  life  as 
I  saw  it.  I  do  not  say  that  he  was  wrong ;  I  only  say, 
that  thus  feeling  my  hands  bound  to  the  will  of  another, 
rendered  me  hesitating  and  discontented.  I  should 
have  preferred  a  studio  of  my  own,  and  after  I  had 
sketched  out  as  well  as  I  could  my  own  ideas,  then  to 
have  my  master  come  in  to  correct  me.  But  there  he 
was  always ;  and  he  was  not  content  with  correcting  me 
by  words  alone,  but  he  would  take  the  modelling  tool 
and  go  on  and  model  what  I  ought  to  have  modelled 
myself.  My  work  might  be  done  with  difficulty ;  but  if 


LAWS   OF   COMPOSITION   AND   GROUPING.      8 1 

I  could  have  done  it  all  myself,  as  I  wished,  I  should 
have  been  much  happier,  and  my  hand  would  have  been 
better  seen  in  it — the  hand  of  a  youth  without  skill  in- 
deed, but  still  desirous  to  do  and  to  learn ;  and  I  should 
also  have  been  spared  the  annoyance  of  hearing  that 
the  work  was  not  done  by  me,  but  by  Professor  Cambi. 
Now  Cambi  is  a  very  dear  friend  of  mine,  and  I  do 
not  mean  in  the  least  to  reprove  him  for  what  he  did ; 
but  it  is  my  duty  to  state  the  facts  clearly  just  as  they 
are — and  I  take  this  occasion  to  say  a  few  words  as  to 
what  I  consider  a  master  should  do  in  directing  his 
young  pupils. 

Every  historical  fact,  in  its  manifestations  of  time, 
place,  circumstances,  and  character,  presents  itself  to 
the  mind  of  each  person  who  studies  it — and  far  more 
to  any  one  who  intends  to  reproduce  it — in  an  entirely 
different  way  from  what  it  would  impress  another.  The 
impression  each  receives  depends  upon  his  character, 
intelligence,  temperament,  and  education.  This  being 
admitted,  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  difficult  to  assert 
with  assurance,  "  I  understand  and  can  express  the  fact 
better  than  you."  When  certain  essential  points  are 
established,  such  as  the  age  and  character  of  the  per- 
sonages, and  the  costumes  and  style  of  dress,  all  the 
rest  depends  upon  the  taste  of  the  artist,  and  his  manner 
of  viewing  and  feeling  it.  As  to  the  composition  and 
grouping  of  the  figures,  in  regard  to  which  dogmatic 
statements  are  so  often  laid  down,  this  should  be  a  free 
field  to  the  artist  in  which  he  may  move  about  as  he 
will.  The  harmony  of  lines,  the  balance  of  parts,  the 
equality  of  spaces,  are  all  very  fine  words ;  but  above  all 
and  before  all,  and  as  the  base  of  all,  there  should  be 
clear  expression  of  the  fact,  truth  of  action,  and  living 
beauty.  It  is  very  true  that  sometimes,  and  indeed 

F 


82       FAULTS  OF  YOUNG  STUDENTS. 

very  often,  the  young  pupil  is  without  much  study  or  much 
knowledge,  and  in  composing  his  sketch  he  makes  mis- 
takes in  the  arrangement  of  the  dresses  and  the  char- 
acter and  truth  of  the  subject  he  wishes  to  represent. 
Then  indeed  the  master  should  interpose.  But  how? 
Not  by  taking  the  tool  himself  and  saying,  "  You  should 
do  thus  and  thus " ;  but  rather  by  putting  his  pupil  on 
the  right  road,  and  making  him  clearly  appreciate  the 
story  he  is  trying  to  represent,  and  showing  him  that  this 
or  that  figure  ought  to  have  the  dress  and  the  character 
appropriate  to  it,  and  to  point  out  the  means  by  which 
he  may  attain  this  result.  If  after  this  teaching  the 
youth  is  dull,  he  should  be  counselled  not  to  go  on; 
but  if,  on  the  contrary,  he  improves  his  sketch,  the 
master  should  correct  it  and  perfect  it  in  its  movement, 
in  its  ensemble,  and  in  its  expression.  In  this  way  the 
youth  will  take  courage  and  cognisance  of  his  own 
powers,  and  improve. 

One  of  the  commonest  faults  with  young  scholars  is 
their  slothfulness  in  trying  to  discover  for  themselves 
their  own  way  to  express  their  ideas.  For  the  most  part, 
they  are  completely  deficient  in  this,  and  prefer  to  seek 
among  the  works  of  their  master,  or  of  some  other  master, 
for  their  subjects,  types,  and  movements — and  thus,  with 
little  fatigue  and  less  honour,  they  only  succeed  in  giving 
a  colourless  reminiscence  of  works  already  known ;  and 
one  of  the  faults  of  the  master  is  this — not  only  to  allow 
his  scholars  to  imitate  and  steal  from  him,  but  what  is 
worse,  to  desire  to  impose  upon  them  his  own  works  as 
models. 

I  return  to  my  narrative.  In  my  stable  I  pursued 
my  artistic  life  freely  and  happily,  with  power  to  select 
the  work  I  was  to  do,  to  carry  out  my  own  designs  in 
whatever  style  I  liked,  and  almost  to  fix  their  prices. 


ILLNESS  OF  MY   MOTHER.  83 

In  this  way,  with  only  a  half-day's  work,  I  was  able  to 
carry  home  my  ordinary  earnings  for  the  maintenance  of 
my  family ;  and  beyond  this,  I  had  two  francs  over  to 
pay  my  model  for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  which  I 
spent  on  my  basso-relievo.  My  daily  life,  therefore,  was 
gay  and  free  in  my  stable,  timorous  and  gloomy  in  the 
studio  Cambi,  and  peaceful,  glad,  and  quiet  all  the  even- 
ing at  home.  But  for  all  this,  the  bitterness  had  to  come. 
The  other  competitor,  Ludovico  Caselli,  was  already  hint- 
ing it  about  that  the  basso-relievo  was  not  made  by  me. 
and  that  Professor  Cambi  worked  upon  it.  Caselli  was 
modelling  under  the  direction  of  Professor  Pampaloni ; 
but  I  never  complained  that  Pampaloni  worked  upon  it, 
although  there  were  some  who  affirmed  that  he  did.  I 
kept  my  peace,  and  resolved  formally  in  my  own  mind 
that  whatever  should  be  the  issue  of  this  competition,  I 
would  again  make  an  attempt  the  next  year.  When  the 
time  of  the  exhibition  and  the  decision  approached,  I 
began  to  hear  contemptuous  and  insolent  rumours,  which, 
whether  I  failed  or  was  successful,  would  equally  afflict 
me.  To  this  is  to  be  added,  that  my  poor  mother  was 
suffering  from  a  very  severe  illness — an  illness,  indeed, 
that  carried  her  in  a  few  days  to  her  grave.  I  remember, 
as  something  that  still  pierces  my  heart,  the  interest  she 
showed  during  that  illness  for  me,  for  my  competition, 
and  for  my  triumph  (as  she  called  it) ;  and  it  seemed  as 
if  this  belief  of  my  loving  mother  gave  a  certain  allevia- 
tion to  the  terrible  anguish  of  her  disease,  which  every 
day  grew  worse  and  worse.  This  was  in  the  first  days 
of  September  1840.  On  Sunday  the  i5th  the  decision 
was  to  be  given,  and  my  poor  mother  was  at  the  point 
of  death.  .  What  I  felt  in  my  heart  may  be  imagined,  it 
cannot  be  told.  The  instant  I  heard  that  the  prize  had 
been  given  to  me,  I  ran  to  my  mother — from  whom  I 


84  DECISION   OF   THE   ACADEMY. 

had  of  late  been  somewhat  separated — with  almost  a 
hope  that  this  good  news  might  bring  her  back  to  life 
again.  And  in  fact,  on  hearing  this  news  her  face 
became  radiant,  her  cheeks  glowed,  her  eyes,  which  for 
a  time  had  seen  nothing,  became  animated  and  seemed 
to  gaze  at  me.  Then  she  stretched  out  her  arms,  and, 
pressing  me  to  her,  said,  "  Now  I  die  willingly."  She 
lived  a  few  days  longer,  and  then,  comforted  by  the 
sacrament  of  our  holy  religion,  died.  She  had  finished 
her  short  life  of  about  fifty  years,  in  the  restrictions  of 
poverty  and  in  the  bitterness  of  one  of  the  greatest  mis- 
fortunes— blindness.  God  has  taken  her  to  the  joy  of 
His  infinite  mercy. 

The  conflict  of  judgment  among  the  professors  of 
the  Academy  at  the  competition  was  tempestuous,  and 
the  result  extraordinary.  The  votes  were  divided  thus  : 
Ten  votes  were  given  for  my  model,  four  or  five  (if  I 
mistake  not)  to  that  of  my  competitor,  and  there  were 
eleven  votes  for  a  division  of  the  prize.  I  thought  that 
votes  for  a  division  could  not  properly  be  given ;  and 
at  all  events,  as  I  received  ten  and  the  other  four,  I 
considered  myself  the  superior.  But  no.  The  legal 
adviser  declared  that  the  number  eleven  was  supe- 
rior to  the  number  ten,  and  as  eleven  had  voted  for 
the  division,  that  the  prize  must  be  divided.  But  the 
matter  did  not  end  here.  My  competitor,  not  satis- 
fied with  his  prize,  went  about  saying  that  it  was  not  I 
who  had  competed ;  that  he  did  not  know  who  I  was, 
nor  where  I  had  studied;  and  he  threatened  to  challenge 
me  to  I  know  not  what  trial  in  design  or  modelling.  I 
answered  that  I  intended  to  continue  to  study,  and  that 
naturally  we  should  be  measured  against  each  other 
often,  if  he  chose  to  have  it  so ;  and  this  put  an  end  to 
it.  More  than  this,  we  became  friends,  and  still  are ; 


MODEL   OF  YOUTHFUL   BACCHANTE.  85 

and  I  believe  he  is  now  employed  in  the  foundry  of 
Cavaliere  Pietro  Bonini,  as  a  designer  or  mechanic,  I 
don't  well  know  which.  He  is  a  man  of  talent,  and  has 
made  several  works  of  sculpture,  among  which  are 
Hagar  and  Ishmael,  Susannah,  and  the  statue  of  Mas- 
cagni  which  is  under  the  Uffizi. 

But  in  the  opinion  of  the  young  students  at  that  time 
there  still  remained  a  doubt  whether  that  work  was  all 
grist  from  my  mill,  and  in  consequence  I  had  a  strong 
desire  to  do  something  by  myself  in  my  own  studio.  In 
order  to  put  an  end  to  all  this  gossiping,  I  put  up  a  figure 
of  life  size  representing  a  drunken  and  youthful  Bacchante 
leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  as  half  falling,  while 
she  smiled  and  held  to  her  lips  a  goblet.  The  difficulty 
of  the  subject  was  as  great  as  my  inexperience.  The 
tender  age  of  the  model,  who  could  not  be  made  to 
stand  still,  the  difficult  and  fatiguing  attitude,  my  own 
total  want  of  practice  in  setting  up  the  irons  and  clay, 
the  smallness  of  the  room,  and  the  deficiency  of  light, 
were  obstacles  which  conquered  at  last  all  my  poor 
capacity,  and  my  figure  fell,  and  I  had  not  the  courage 
to  put  it  up  again ;  and  it  was  all  the  better  that  I  did 
not. 

After  this  came  new  attacks,  new  gossip,  and  new 
affronts,  all  carefully  covered  and  veiled,  and,  as  Giusti 
says,  "  Tramati  in  regola,  alia  sordino," 

I  have  already  spoken  of  the  voting  on  the  competi- 
tion, and  I  may  as  well  return  to  this  here — for  these 
memoirs  are  not  solely  a  meagre  narrative  of  my  life, 
but  also  an  examination  of  principles ;  and  whenever  it 
seems  to  me  proper  to  make  this  examination,  I  shall  do 
so,  endeavouring,  as  usual,  to  be  brief  and  clear. 

And  first  of  all,  you  must  believe  that  I  do  not  return 
to  this  decision  to  complain  that  the  prize  was  divided 


86  VOTES   ON   COMPETITIVE   WORK. 

between  me  and  my  rival ;  and  I  wish  you  to  understand 
that  even  had  the  entire  prize  been  adjudged  to  me,  I 
should  equally  have  returned  to  this  question.  The 
subject  I  mean  to  examine  is  the  false  principle  of  a 
vote  of  division. 

Whoever  undertakes  to  judge  of  the  comparative  merit 
of  various  works,  ought,  I  think,  to  have  sufficient  critical 
ability  to  distinguish  minutely  the  smallest  differences 
between  these  works  on  various  points — such  as,  for  in- 
stance, their  composition,  character,  proportion,  move- 
ment, expression,  refinement,  historical  accuracy  in  the 
types  and  fashion  of  the  dresses,  truth,  style,  &c.  &c.  Now 
it  is  absolutely  impossible  that  in  all  these  particulars  two 
works  can  be  perfectly  equal  and  of  the  same  value  ;  and 
the  conclusion  thus  far  is  unavoidable,  that  the  judge 
who  gives  his  vote  for  a  division,  either  has  not  the 
qualities  required  to  discern  these  delicate  differences,  or 
omits  through  culpable  negligence  to  make  such  a  rigor- 
ous examination  as  is  required  to  arrive  at  what  is  true 
and  just.  Therefore  the  President  should  declare  for- 
mally that  the  votes  for  a  division  will  be  null ;  and  as 
their  absence  might  invalidate  the  decision  through  a 
consequent  deficiency  of  votes,  he  should  invite  the 
judges  to  declare  for  one  or  the  other.  I  conclude  (and 
with  this  I  shall  finish  my  disquisition  on  this  subject  of 
division  of  votes)  that  whoever  feels  inclined  to  give  a 
vote  in  this  indeterminate  way,  either  is,  or  thereby  de- 
clares himself  to  be,  ignorant  of  the  matter  in  regard 
to  which  he  is  required  to  have  knowledge  and  to  give 
judgment. 

The  youthful  Bacchante  fell  down ;  and,  as  I  have  said, 
it  was  well  that  it  did.  This  I  say  now;  but  then  I 
was  much  vexed,  both  on  account  of  the  accident  itself, 
and  also  for  the  unpleasant  talk  that  it  gave  rise  to. 


HUMBLE   COMMISSIONS.  87 

But  after  all,  things  are  what  they  really  are,  and  not  what 
we  think  them  to  be.  I  was,  however,  consoled  by  a 
commission — very  small  indeed,  but  it  seemed  to  raise 
my  depressed  spirits — and  it  was  this,  to  make  the  four 
"  Cariatidi "  of  the  Royal  Box  in  the  Rossini  Theatre  in 
Leghorn.  I  should  not  have  mentioned  this  humble 
work  did  it  not  give  me  occasion  to  note  one  thing 
which  the  young  men  of  to-day  seem  to  have  forgotten. 

It  is  common  for  the  young  sculptors  of  our  day  to 
scorn  and  sneer  at  any  work  that  is  offered  to  them 
which  they  think  beneath  that  skill  and  capacity  which 
they  suppose  themselves  to  possess ;  and  they  will  not,  as 
they  say,  abase  themselves  to  mere  work  in  plaster.  If 
any  one  orders  of  them  a  bust  or  a  statue  in  plaster, 
their  pretence  is  so  excessive  that  they  deem  it  an  insult. 
Now,  I  say  the  material  counts  for  nothing;  and  a  plaster 
statue  merely  for  decoration,  well  executed,  is  worth  more 
than  a  statue  in  marble  or  bronze  which  is  ill  executed. 
Undoubtedly,  if  one  could  choose,  he  would  reject  the 
statue  in  plaster  and  accept  that  in  marble  —  always, 
however,  recognising  that  the  one  essential  thing  is,  to 
do  his  work  well.  But  I  was  not  given  this  choice,  and 
I  accepted  this  humble  commission,  and  executed  it  with 
zealous  love.  There  was  this,  too,  of  good  in  the  com- 
mission— it  might  induce  me  to  believe  that  I  should 
have  made  a  far  better  statue  had  I  been  given  more 
time  and  more  means  to  make  one  of  my  own  selec- 
tion; and  I  said,  "If  I  have  been  able  to  make  these 
statues  in  a  month,  with  thirty  or  forty  lire  to  pay  to 
my  models,  how  much  better  I  might  do  in  five  or  six 
months,  with  much  more  money ! "  The  question  re- 
duces itself,  then,  to  time  and  money.  Let  the  young 
artist  consider  whether  my  reasoning  is  not  just ;  and  let 
him  also  consider  what  is  more  important — that  if  I 


88  HUMBLE   COMMISSIONS. 

had  not  accepted  this  commission,  I  should  not  have 
come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  power  that  was  in  me, 
nor  have  gone  through  the  reasoning  which  by  strict 
logic  induced  me  to  make  the  "Abel." 

This  humble  work  was  of  great  importance  to  me, 
and  I  recommend  it  to  the  attention  of  those  young 
artists  who  consider  themselves  humiliated  by  small 
commissions.  No;  do  not  let  them  be  alarmed  either 
by  the  subject  or  the  material,  and  if  they  should  re- 
ceive an  order  even  for  a  great  terra  cotta  mask  for  a 
fountain,  provided  it  be  well  made,  they  will  acquire  by 
it  praise,  and  new  and  worthier  orders,  so  long  as  their 
sole  endeavour  is  to  do  their  work  well. 


89 


CHAPTER    VI. 

AN  UNJUST  LAW — THE  "  ABEL  "  —  BRINA  THE  MODEL  AND  I  IN  DANGER  OF  BE- 
ING ASPHYXIATED— MY  FIRST  REQUEST —  BENVENUTI  WISHES  TO  CHANGE 
THE  NAME  OF  MY  ABEL  FOR  THAT  OF  ADONIS — I  INVITE  BARTOLINI  TO 
DECIDE  ON  THE  NAME  OF  MY  STATUE — BARTOLINI  AT  MY  STUDIO— HIS 
ADVICE  AND  CORRECTIONS  ON  THE  ABEL — LORENZO  BARTOLINI — GIUSEPPE 
SABATELLI— EXHIBITION  OF  THE  ABEL — IT  IS  SAID  TO  BE  CAST  FROM 
LIFE— I  ASK  FOR  A  SMALL  STUDIO,  BUT  DO  NOT  OBTAIN  IT — MY  SECOND 
AND  LAST  REQUEST — THE  PRESIDENT  ANTONIO  MONTALVO 1  DON'T  SUC- 
CEED SOMEHOW  IN  DOING  ANYTHING  AS  I  SHOULD — I  TALK  OVER  MAT- 
TERS AT  HOME — COUNT  DEL  BENINO  A  TRUE  FRIEND  AND  TRUE  BENE- 
FACTOR— HIS  GENEROUS  ACTION. 

HILE  I  was  pondering  a  subject  for  a  statue 
which  should  silence  the  idle  and  malevo- 
lent, it  happened  that  a  competition  in 
sculpture  was  opened  in  Siena,  in  which  no 
one  could  compete  but  those  who  were  of  that  country 
and  province.  Naturally  I  determined  to  compete. 
The  only  other  competitor  was  the  young  sculptor 
Enea  Becheroni,  a  pupil  of  the  Academy  there.  An- 
other wished  to  enter  into  the  competition,  and  this 
was  Giovanni  Lusini,  an  accomplished  sculptor  who 
had  lately  returned  from  Rome,  where '  he  had  been 
pensioned  for  four  years,  he  having  gained  the  prize 
at  the  quadrennial  competition  of  our  Academy  at  Flor- 
ence. But  he  was  not  allowed  to  come  in ;  for  although, 
like  Becheroni  and  myself,  he  was  a  native  of  Siena,  he 


9O  BIRINGUCCI   COMPETITION. 

was  inadmissible  because  he  had  passed  the  age  decreed 
by  the  rules.  This  competition  was  called  Biringucd, 
from  the  name  of  the  worthy  man  who  by  his  will  had 
founded  a  prize  and  pension  for  sculpture,  as  well  as  others 
for  painting,  architecture,  and  various  sciences  that  I  do 
not  remember.  The  studies  and  pensions  established  by 
him  had  been  in  existence  for  more  than  300  years,  and 
are  still  in  existence,  but,  by  one  of  those  curious  combina- 
tions that  some  would  call  a  fatality,  precisely  in  this 
very  year,  when  it  would  have  been  most  welcome  to 
me,  the  prize  for  sculpture  was  struck  out  by  one  stroke 
of  the  pen. 

I  had  'already  for  some  time  prepared  myself  for  this 
competition,  which  required  that  the  artist  should  be 
shut  up  in  a  room  by  himself,  and  there  should  make,  in 
the  course  of  one  day  from  morning  till  evening,  a 
sketch  in  clay  of  some  subject  drawn  by  him  by  lot  at 
the  moment  of  entering  the  studio.  For  a  considerable 
time  I  had  made  nothing  but  sketches;  and  within  a 
space  of  time  certainly  not  greater  than  that  allowed  by 
the  competition,  I  had  in  fact  made  some  dozen,  and 
by  practice  I  had  become  so  rapid  in  composition, 
that  whatever  subject  might  be  given  me,  I  felt  fully 
equipped,  so  as  to  be  able  to  come  out  of  the  struggle 
with  honour. 

One  day — it  was  Sunday — I  was  standing  in  my  little 
studio  in  the  Via  del  Palagio,  and  modelling  one  of 
these  sketches,  the  subject  of  which  was  Elias  carried 
away  in  the  chariot.  I  was  working  with  goodwill,  and 
was  happy  and  in  the  vein.  My  father  had  come  to  see 
me,  and  he  was  sitting  and  reading  quietly  the  Bible. 
The  bell  rang,  and  a  letter  was  given  me  bearing  the 
post-mark  of  Siena,  and  I  recognised  the  handwriting 
of  the  secretary  of  the  competition,  Signer  Corsini.  I 


I   SMASH   MY  SKETCH   OF   ELIAS.  91 

opened  the  letter,  and  read  that  the  Government  had 
suppressed  the  pension  for  sculpture  as  being  super- 
fluous, and  had  disposed  of  the  sura  by  appropriating 
it  to  a  chair  at  the  University,  and  therefore  the  compe- 
tition would  not  take  place.  I  see,  as  if  he  were  now 
before  me,  my  father  start  up  suddenly  and  exclaim — 
"  Sagratino  Moro  Moraccio"  (which  is,  literally,  "  Cursed 
Moor  of  the  Blackamoors"),  "what  have  you  done?" 

With  one  blow  of  my  fist  I  had  smashed  to  pieces  my 
poor  Elias,  and  he  saw  it  on  the  ground  between  the  legs 
of  the  horse. 

"  Read,"  I  said,  giving  him  the  letter. 

Scarcely  had  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  it,  than  he  grew  red, 
stamped  with  his  feet,  and  repeated  his  usual  "  Sagratino 
Moro."  I  was  at  once  aware  that  I  had  acted  ill  in  giv- 
ing way  thus  brutally  to  my  irritation.  This  I  have  re- 
counted out  of  love  of  the  truth,  and  that  those  who 
know  me  now  may  see  how  different  I  was  then,  and 
how  ludicrously  that  excitability  of  character  which  I 
still  feel,  but  which  I  have  learned  how  to  repress,  was 
exhibited  in  the  tragic  destruction  of  that  poor  sketch. 

And  this  too  was  of  advantage,  just  as  the  gossip  and 
incredulity  about  the  first  triennial  was.  The  refusal  to 
give  work  was  also  of  advantage,  when  I  went  seeking 
about  from  studio  to  studio,  and  it  was  denied  to  me, 
even  in  terms  of  scorn.  It  was  all  of  advantage  to  me. 
It  obliged  me  to  concentrate  myself,  and,  seeing  myself 
rejected  on  all  sides,  to  will  and  to  know,  and  with  God's 
assistance  to  make  my  place  with  my  own  unassisted 
powers.  It  was  all  right — thoroughly  right ;  I  repeat  it. 
Who  can  tell  ?  The  pension  of  Siena  was  for  ten  years. 
May  God  pardon  me,  but  I  always  feared  that  that  pen- 
sion might  prove  to  me,  as  it  had  to  others,  a  Capuan 
idleness. 


92  SKETCH   OF   ABEL. 

I  began  now  to  turn  over  in  my  mind  a  new  subject 
which  should  be  serious  and  sympathetic,  and  into 
which  I  could  put  my  whole  heart,  strength,  will,  hopes, 
and  all — and  I  found  it.  Among  the  pictures,  bronzes, 
and  terre  cotte  of  Pacetti's  shop,  where  I  used  often  to 
wander  about,  I  was  struck  by  a  group  in  terra  cotta  of 
a  pietd.  The  figure  of  Christ  specially  seemed  to  me 
beautiful ;  and  I  had  half  a  mind  to  make  a  dead 
Christ,  and  went  about  ruminating  in  my  mind  over 
the  composition.  Certainly  a  dead  Christ  would  be,  as 
it  always  is,  a  very  sublime  theme.  But  yet  I  was  not 
satisfied.  I  wished  to  find  a  new  subject ;  and  as  the 
Bible  was  familiar  to  me,  the  death  of  Abel  suggested 
itself,  and  I  seized  upon  it  with  settled  purpose.  I  sought 
for  a  studio  to  shut  myself  up  in  with  the  model,  and  I 
found  one  in  the  Piazzetta  of  S.  Simone,  opposite  the 
church.  Then  I  put  together  a  few  sous  to  buy  me  two 
stands,  one  for  the  living  model  and  one  for  the  clay. 
Among  the  nude  figures  which  I  saw  in  the  evenings 
when  I  went  to  draw,  I  selected  the  one  that  seemed 
to  me  best  adapted  to  the  subject,  and  I  arranged  with 
him  to  come  to  me  every  afternoon,  as  I  was  employed 
in  wood-carving  all  the  morning.  I  had  already  made 
several  sketches,  but  I  wished  to  make  one  from  life,  so 
as  to  be  sure  of  a  good  movement  and  a  true  expres- 
sion. It  was  on  Shrove  Thursday  in  1842,  and  all  the 
world  who  could  and  wished  to  do  so,  were  walking 
about  in  the  Corso.  The  model  and  I  were  shut  up 
together  in  the  studio,  and  it  was  nothing  less  than  a 
miracle  that  that  day  was  not  the  last  of  both  of  our 
lives.  Poor  Brina  is  still  living,  as  old  as  I  am,  and  he 
still  stands  as  a  model  at  our  Academy. 

And  this  is  the  way  in  which  we  ran  the  risk  of 
losing  our  lives.  In  the  studio  which  I  had  hired  there 


I   AM    NEARLY  ASPHYXIATED.  93 

was  no  way  of  putting  up  a  stove,  except  by  carrying 
the  tube  up  through  the  upper  floor,  and  so  out  through 
the  roof.  The  expense  of  doing  this  was  large,  and  for 
me  very  large ;  so  I  determined  to  make  a  sketch  from 
life,  and  from  this  to  put  up  my  clay,  and  I  hoped 
to  be  able  to  go  on  with  the  model  without  fire  until 
the  warmer  season  came  on.  But  these  days  were  so 
extremely  cold  that  the  model  could  not  remain  naked 
even  for  a  few  minutes;  and  we  determined  to  warm 
the  room  with  a  pan  of  coals,  in  which  apparently  there 
remained  a  residuum  of  the  powdery  dregs  of  charcoal. 
The  brazier  having  been  lighted,  and  at  intervals  stirred 
up,  the  room,  which  was  small,  was  soon  tolerably  warm. 
I  was  intent  on  modelling  with  my  tool  the  outline  and 
planes  of  my  sketch,  and  moving  about  the  model  to 
assure  myself  of  the  movement  and  the  ensemble,  when 
I  felt  an  oppression  on  my  head ;  but  I  attributed  it  to 
the  intensity  of  my  labour,  and  on  I  went.  Suddenly  I 
saw  the  model  make  a  slight  movement,  and  draw  a 
long  deep  sigh,  and  the  eyes  and  the  colour  of  his  face 
were  like  those  of  a  dead  man.  I  ran  to  help  him,  but 
my  legs  would  not  hold  me  up.  I  half  lost  my  senses, 
my  sight  grew  dim.  I  made  an  effort  to  open  the  door, 
and  fell  to  the  ground.  But  I  had  strength  enough 
left  to  drag  myself  along  to  it,  and  kneeling,  I  laid  hold 
of  the  lock ;  but  the  handle  would  not  move,  and  with 
the  left  thumb  I  was  obliged  to  raise  the  spring,  and 
with  the  right  hand  to  draw  the  bolt,  and  to  do  it 
quickly.  I  was  wrestling  with  death,  as  I  well  knew, 
and  I  redoubled  my  efforts  with  the  determination  not 
to  die.  By  good  fortune,  by  my  panting  I  drew  in  a 
little  breath  of  pure  fresh  air  through  the  keyhole,  and 
at  last  I  pulled  back  the  bolt,  and  threw  it  wide  open ; 
and  there  I  sat  drinking  in  full  draughts  of  the  outer 


94  PETITION   FOR  ASSISTANCE. 

air.  In  the  streets  there  was  not  a  living  soul,  but  I 
could  hear  the  joyous  shouts  from  the  races  in  the 
Piazza  or  Santa  Croce  near  by.  Poor  Brina  gasped  and 
rolled  his  eyes.  The  air  which  came  blowing  into  the 
room  revived  him,  but  he  could  not  rise.  I  had  entirely 
recovered,  except  that  I  felt  a  tight  band  around  my 
head.  I  ran  to  the  nearest  shop,  got  a  little  vinegar, 
mixed  it  with  water,  and  dashed  it  over  his  face.  We 
then  extinguished  the  fire  and  went  away. 

I  began  to  model  the  statue  a  few  days  after.  My 
mornings  up  to  one  o'clock  were  employed  in  wood- 
carving,  and  all  the  afternoon  I  modelled.  In  this  way 
I  went  on  for  some  time,  and  the  statue  was  fairly  well 
advanced,  but  I  required  a  little  more  money.  The 
want  of  this  made  me  rather  doubtful  whether  I  should 
be  able  to  finish  the  model  in  time  for  the  exhibition  in 
September.  I  required  thirty  or  forty  pauls  a-month 
for  five  months  in  order  to  go  on  until  September.  By 
the  advice  of  Signor  Antonio  Sferra,  a  publisher  of 
prints,  I  made  a  petition,  to  which  Professor  Cavaliere 
Pietro  Benvenuti,  Aristodemo  Costoli,  Giuseppe  Sabatelli, 
and  Emilio  Santarelli  were  kind  enough  to  append  their 
names.  This  petition,  which  I  now  have  under  my  eye, 
and  which  I  copy  literally,  was  as  follows.  It  was  not 
dictated  or  written  by  me.  My  friend  Giuseppe  Saltini, 
now  Government  Physician  at  Scrofiano,  did  me  this 
favour : — 

"  ILLUSTRISSIMI  SIGNORI,  —  The  undersigned  being 
desirous  to  submit  to  the  judgment  of  the  public  a  work 
of  sculpture  at  the  exhibition  of  the  Academy  of  Fine 
Arts  during  the  current  year,  has  begun  to  model  for 
his  studio  a  figure,  of  life  size,  representing  a  Dying 
Abel.  Family  circumstances  have,  however,  deprived 


SUBSCRIPTIONS.  95 

him  of  the  means  which  were  required  to  bring  this 
work  to  a  conclusion.  Regretting  to  find  his  money 
and  labour  spent  thus  far  to  no  purpose,  he  refers  him- 
self to  the  philanthropy  of  his  countrymen,  in  the  hope 
that  they  will  lend  him  their  assistance.  The  sum 
required  he  has  calculated  at  only  forty  francs  a-month 
until  the  time  of  the  said  exhibition. 

"  He  begs  to  inform  all  those  persons  who  will  kindly 
lend  him  their  aid  and  honour  him  with  a  visit,  that  the 
statue  which  he  has  begun  is  at  his  studio,  opposite  the 
Church  of  S.  Simone,  where  the  undersigned  will  be 
glad  to  express  to  them  his  gratitude,  and  where  the 
undersigned  professors,  in  attestation  of  their  goodwill, 
have  not  disdained  to  honour  him  with  their  approba- 
tion.— He  subscribes  himself  as  their  most  devoted  and 
obliged  servant, 

"GIOVANNI  DUPRE. 

"  STUDIO,  i$th  April  1842. 

"CAV.  PIETRO  BENVENUTI. 
ARISTODEMO  COSTOLI. 
GIUSEPPE  SA15ATELLI. 
EMILIO  SANTARELLI." 

The  signatures  of  the  subscribers  were  as  follows : — 

Maria  Bargagli,  widow  of  Rosselli  del  Turco  Lire  200 

Antonio  Sferra     .         .         .         .         .         .  .         400 

N.  N.  will  pay  in  all  as  above      .         .         .  .         400 

E.  Merlini  .         .         .         .         .         .         .  .         300 

E.  Ba 368 

M.  M.  will  pay  in  all  as  above     .         .         .  .         268 

G.  C.  pays  at  once       .         .         .         .         .  .1000 

T.  D.  B.  will  pay  up  to  September      .         .  .         6'  13    4 

And  thus  I  obtained  26  lire  and  4  crazie  a-month  for 
five  months,  which  were  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  finish 


g6  VISIT   TO  BARTOLINI. 

the  "Abel."  From  that  time  forward  I  have  troubled 
nobody. 

Thanks  to  the  aid  of  those  generous  persons  who 
assisted  me,  and  whose  names  as  I  read  them  thrill  me 
to  the  heart,  I  went  on  every  day  with  my  model,  care- 
fully copying  him,  and  giving  a  proper  expression.  There 
was  a  moment  when  I  hesitated  as  to  the  name  I  should 
give  to  my  statue, — or  I  should  rather  say,  that  this  hesi- 
tation was  induced  by  the  Cavaliere  Pietro  Benvenuti, 
who  thought  that,  in  consequence  of  the  absence  of  any 
clear  attributes  to  explain  the  subject,  I  should  rather 
call  it  an  Adonis.  I  had  never  been  greatly  impressed 
either  by  the  name  or  story  of  Adonis,  and  I  never  had 
wished  to  join  the  devotees  of  Olympus ;  but  my  respect 
for  this  gentleman  made  me  somewhat  hesitate,  and 
before  going  on  further,  as  the  difference  of  subject 
required  a  difference  of  character,  expression,  and  style, 
I  determined  to  ask  the  judgment  of  some  one  in  whose 
decision  I  could  in  every  way  safely  confide — -and  this 
person  was  Bartolini.  With  this  view  I  went  one  morn- 
ing to  his  house  in  Borgo  Pinti,  having  already  informed 
myself  that  the  hour  when  he  could  receive  me  was 
between  half-past  five  and  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
I  see  him  as  if  it  were  now.  He  was  seated  in  his 
garden,  with  a  cup  of  coffee,  which  he  was  slowly  sipping 
when  I  approached  him  and  said,  "Signer  Maestro, 
would  you  do  me  the  favour  to  visit  me  at  my  studio, 
and  give  me  your  opinion  on  a  statue  that  I  am  model- 
ling?" 

He  answered :  "  You  have  called  me  maestro,  and 
that  is  all  right ;  but  I  do  not  know  you :  you  are  not 
one  of  my  scholars  at  the  Academy.  Who  is  it,  then, 
who  supervises  your  statue,  and  who  is  your  master  ?  " 

"  I  had  some  time  ago  some  lessons  from  Magi  and 


BARTOLINI   RETURNS  MY   VISIT.  Q/ 

Cambi,  and  I  am  not  unknown  to  you,  who  had  the 
kindness  to  praise  a  little  statuette  of  mine  in  wood,  the 
Santa  Filomena.  But  I  have  asked  neither  Magi  nor 
Cambi,  nor  any  one  else,  to  correct  the  statue  that  I  am 
now  making,  and  this  for  very  good  reasons." 

Bartolini  smiled  at  these  words,  and  said  to  me, 
"To-morrow  at  six  I  will  come  to  see  you.  Leave 
your  name  with  the  servants,  and  go  in  peace." 

In  the  evening,  when  I  went  home,  I  said  to  my  wife  : 
"  Listen.  Call  me  early  to-morrow  morning,  for  before 
six  I  must  be  at  my  studio,  as  a  Professor  is  coming  to 
see  my  statue." 

And  she  called  me,  poor  dear — and  called  me  in  time. 
How  it  happened  I  know  not,  but  I  was  late,  and  six 
o'clock  was  striking  as  I  passed  the  Piazza,  di  Sta  Croce. 
When  I  arrived  at  my  studio,  I  found  in  the  hole  of  the 
door-lock  the  card  of  Bartolini,  on  which  he  had  written 
in  pencil — "  Six  o'clock  in  the  morning."  I  ran  imme- 
diately to  his  studio  in  the  Porta  San  Frediano  to  make 
my  excuses,  and  to  inform  him  that  I  had  been  but  a 
moment  late.  His  carriage  was  still  at  his  door.  He 
had  not  taken  off  his  coat,  and  he  was  correcting  with 
his  pencil  a  statue,  so  that  the  workman  might  see  as 
soon  as  he  arrived  where  he  should  work.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  me,  and  before  I  had  begun  to  exculpate  my- 
self, he  said,  "  Never  mind ;  there  is  no  harm  done. 
I  will  come  again  to-morrow.  Addio!" 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  for  me  to  say  that  the  next 
morning  I  was  at  my  studio  by  five  o'clock,  and  at  six 
Bartolini  knocked.  He  came  in,  looked  at  the  statue, 
scowling,  and  pronouncing  one  of  his  oaths,  which  I  will 
not  repeat.  I  begged  him  to  tell  me  where  I  was  wrong, 
and  how  I  could  make  it  better.  He  asked  me  what 
was  the  subject,  and  I  told  him  that  I  intended  it  for  a 

G 


98  BARTOLINl'S   CRITICISM. 

Dying  Abel.  I  then  showed  him  the  sketch,  upon 
which  was  the  goat- skin  that  as  yet  I  had  not  put  on  the 
large  model,  in  order  first  to  study  carefully  the  nude 
underneath.  And  then  I  told  him  the  objection  that 
Benvenuti  had  made,  and  his  proposal  to  change  the 
subject.  Bartolini  answered,  "You  will  do  the  best 
possible  thing  not  to  change  it,  for,  as  far  as  regards  the 
clear  indication  of  the  theme,  nothing  more  could  be 
done.  Besides,  the  goat- skin,  which  immediately  denotes 
a  shepherd,  the  wound  on  the  head,  and  the  expression 
of  gentleness,  explain  that  it  is  Abel.  Now,  I  will  give 
you  a  little  counsel  as  to  the  unity  of  expression,  to 
which  you  must  carefully  attend.  The  face,  you  see,  is 
gentle,  and  is  that  of  a  just  man  who  pardons  as  he  dies. 
The  limbs  also  correspond  to  this  sentiment.  There  is 
only  one  discord,  and  that  is  in  the  left  hand.  Why 
have  you  closed  it,  while  the  right  hand  is  open,  and  just 
as  it  should  be  ?  " 

"  I  closed  it,"  I  answered,  "  in  order  to  give  variety." 

"Variety,"  said  the  master,  "is  good  when  it  does  not 
•  contradict  unity.  You  will  do  well  to  open  it  like  the 
other, — and  I  have  nothing  else  to  say." 

This  comforted  me,  but  wishing  to  draw  from  him 
something  more,  in  an  exacting  tone  I  said,  "And  as 
to  the  imitation,  the  character,  the  form  ?  " 

"The  imitation,  the  character,  and  the  form  of  this 
statue  show  that  you  are  not  of  the  Academy." 

Other  words  he  also  added,  which  it  is  not  proper  for 
me  to  report.  As  to  the  feet,  he  only  made  a  movement 
with  his  thumb,  and  I  said,  "  I  understand." 

He  looked  at  me,  and  added,  "  All  the  better  for  you 
if  you  have  understood." 

This  ended  all  the  correction  of  my  statue  made 
by  this  singular  man.  It  was  the  first  and  the  last. 


BARTOLINl'S  CHARACTER.         99 

Bartolini  was  disdainful  and  unprejudiced,  and  called 
things  by  their  real  name;  and  if  any  one  seemed  to 
him  an  ass,  he  called  him  an  ass,  though  he  might  be 
senator  or  minister.  He  knew  that  he  was  a  great  sculp- 
tor, and  liked  to  be  so  recognised  by  all.  He  was  often 
epigrammatic,  and  to  his  pungency  he  frequently  add- 
ed indecency, — liberal  and  charitable,  jealous  of  the 
decorum  and  education  of  his  family,  an  admirer  of  the 
code  of  Leopold,  Frederic  the  Great,  Napoleon  the 
Great,  and  the  principles  of  Eighty-nine.  He  liked  to 
be  called  master,  and  detested  to  be  called  professor. 
He  ridiculed  all  decorations,  but  what  he  had  he  wore 
constantly.  As  a  sculptor  he  was  very  great.  His  ex- 
ample was  better  than  his  teaching.  He  restored  the 
school  of  sculpture  by  bringing  it  back  to  the  sound 
principles  of  truth.  His  enemies  were  numerous  and 
very  provoking,  but  he  took  no  pains  to  conciliate  them. 
When  he  was  irritated,  he  struck  about  him  right  and 
left,  lashing  out  fiercely,  and  laughing. 

I  went  on  and  finished  my  statue,  shutting  out  every- 
body except  my  dearest  friends,  among  whom  was  Pro- 
fessor Giuseppe  Sabatelli,  who,  after  seeing  my  work  and 
signing  my  petition  for  assistance,  took  a  liking  to  me. 
And  every  morning,  with  a  knock  which  we  had  agreed 
upon,  he  came  to  my  studio  to  sit  for  a  while,  before 
going,  as  usual,  to  paint  the  cupoletta  of  the  Chapel  of 
the  Madonna  in  the  Church  of  San  Firenze.  He  used 
at  once  to  sit  down  and  say — "  I  am  not  ill,  but  I  am 
tired."  He  was  thin  and  pale,  and  his  black  moustaches 
made  his  gentle  and  quiet  face  look  even  paler.  Only 
few  and  kindly  words  came  from  his  lips.  As  a  com- 
panion, he  was  mild  and  pleasant.  His  memory  comes 
over  me  sadly,  and  seems  like  the  remembrance  of  some- 
thing dear  which  has  been  mislaid,  but  not  lost. 


100  I   FINISH   THE  ABEL. 

By  the  first  days  of  September  I  finished  the  Abel ; 
and  the  caster  Lelli,  who  was  then  also  a  beginner, 
undertook  the  casting,  and  gave  his  service  in  the  most 
friendly  way,  so  that  the  expense  should  be  as  small  as 
possible.  All  my  friends,  indeed,  came  forward  to  aid 
me  in  making  the  mould  and  casting,  and  removing  the 
outer  mould,  with  that  brotherly  love  that  I  still  recall 
with  emotion.  They  are  still  living :  Ferdinand  Folchi 
the  painter,  who  served  me  as  model  for  the  hands; 
Ulisse  Giusti,  the  carver ;  Bartolommeo  Bianciardi, 
Paolo  Fanfani,  and  Michele  Poggi,  all  carvers.  They 
came  to  help  me  to  raise  and  turn  over  the  mould,  or  to 
give  me  any  other  assistance.  Folchi  and  Sanesi  assisted 
me  in  taking  off  the  waste  mould ;  and,  in  a  word,  all 
were  eager  to  see  my  work  finished  and  put  on  exhibition. 
Bartolirii  told  me  to  select  the  place  at  the  Academy  that 
I  thought  best ;  and  that  if  I  found  any  opposition,  as  no 
one  but  the  professors  had  any  right  to  make  the  choice 
of  place,  to  come  to  him  there  in  the  school,  and  he 
would  arrange  it  for  me.  I  had  no  occasion  to  avail 
myself  of  this  frank  and  kind  offer,  for  no  sooner  had 
Benvenuti  seen  me  and  the  statue  than  he  said,  "  Select 
the  place  and  the  light  that  you  prefer." 

As  soon  as  the  exhibition  was  opened  there  was  a 
crowd  about  my  statue.  Its  truth  to  nature,  its  appro- 
priateness of  expression,  and  the  novelty  and  sympathetic 
character  of  the  subject,  made  a  great  impression,  and 
every  day  the  crowd  about  the  statue  increased.  But 
little  by  little  it  began  to  be  whispered  about,  first  in  un- 
dertones, and  then  more  openly  and  authoritatively,  that 
the  statue  was  worth  nothing,  because  it  was  not  really 
a  work  of  art,  but  merely  a  cast  from  life ;  that  I  had 
wished  to  take  in  the  Academy,  masters,  scholars,  and 
the  public ;  and  that  such  a  living  piece  of  work  thus 


MALIGNANT  ACCUSATIONS.  IOI 

introduced  as  if  it  were  a  work  of  art,  while  in  point  of 
fact  it  was  a  mere  cast  from  life,  ought  at  once  to  be 
expelled  from  the  public  exhibition.  And  this  scandalous 
talk,  which  was  as  absurd  as  malign,  originated  among 
the  artists,  and  especially  among  the  sculptors.  It  was 
pushed  to  such  a  point,  that  in  order  to  make  the  fraud 
clear,  they  obliged  the  model,  Antonio  Petrai,  to  undress, 
and  laying  him  down  in  the  same  position  as  the  statue, 
they  proceeded  with  compasses  and  strips  of  paper  to 
take  all  the  measures  of  his  body  in  length  and  breadth. 
Naturally  they  did  not  agree  in  a  single  measure ;  for, 
without  intending>it  or  thinking  about  it,  I  had  made  my 
statue  four  fingers  taller  and  two  fingers  narrower  across 
the  back.  This  beautiful  experiment  was  made  in  the 
evening;  and  the  President  of  the  Academy,  who  by 
chance  surprised  them  in  the  very  act,  reprimanded  all 
severely,  not  heeding  whether  among  them  there  were 
professors. 

But  none  the  less  this  malignant  and  ridiculous  accusa- 
tion was  still  kept  up,  and  nothing  was  said  of  the  failure 
of  the  attempted  proof.  The  model  himself,  who  per- 
sisted in  affirming  that  the  statue  was  modelled  and  not 
cast,  was  openly  jeered ;  and  one  person  went  so  far  as 
to  tell  him,  that  for  a  bottle  of  wine  he  could  be  made 
to  say  anything.  But  the  person  who  thus  insulted 
Petrai  had  better  have  let  him  alone,  for  Tonino — who, 
poor  man,  though  now  old,  would  still  hold  his  own 
perhaps — added  certain  arguments  to  his  words  which 
no  one  dared  to  resist. 

Signer  Presidente  Montalvo  was  quite  right  in  express- 
ing his  disapproval  of  this  dirty  and  impertinent  examina- 
tion, which  was  made  without  giving  notice  to  the  Presi- 
dent and  Director  of  the  Academy ;  but,  besides  this,  he 
felt  all  the  more  inclined  to  assume  my  defence  on  ac- 


102       PETITION   FOR  A  GOVERNMENT   STUDIO. 

count  of  a  little  debt  of  conscience  that  he  had  towards 
me,  and  that  he  wished  to  pay  off. 

One  day,  before  resolving  to  take  a  studio  on  lease,  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  petition  the  Grand  Duke  to  give 
me  one  gratis.  The  Government  had  then  at  its  dis- 
position several  small  studios,  which  were  given  away, 
without  rent  and  for  an  indefinite  time,  to  those  young 
men  who  either  in  painting  or  sculpture  gave  good 
promise  not  only  of  aptitude,  but  also  of  goodwill  and 
proper  conduct.  As  I  did  not  think  myself  wanting  in  all 
these  qualities,  and  specially  the  last  two,  I  determined 
to  make  an  application,  driven  to  it  indeed  by  necessity. 
But  before  presenting  my  petition  I  wished  to  inform  the 
President  of  it,  and  to  beg  that  he  would  be  so  kind  as 
to  lend  me  his  support,  as  I  well  knew  that  petitions  of 
this  nature  were  always  passed  on  to  him  for  due  infor- 
mation. 

Montalvo  was  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  of  an  ancient 
and  wealthy  family,  instructed  in  the  history  of  art,  a 
great  admirer  of  it,  and  a  very  good  friend  of  all  artists, 
especially  of  those  who  to  their  artistic  skill  added  an 
outward  practice  of  religious  duties,  to  which  he  was  a 
devotee — though,  as  far  as  sentiment,  enthusiasm,  and 
real  taste  for  art  go,  he  was  not  distinguished. 

Accordingly,  I  went  one  morning  to  pay  him  a  visit 
at  his  rooms  in  the  gallery  of  the  Uffizi — he  being  also 
a  Director  of  the  Royal  Gallery.  I  must  here  premise 
that  I  was  not  much  in .  his  good  graces,  because  I  had 
not  studied  at  the  Academy,  which  he  believed  to  be  the 
true  nursery  of  an  artist.  As  soon  as  he  saw  me,  sus- 
pecting perhaps  what  I  had  come  to  ask,  he  said  to  me — 

"And  what  do  you  want?" 

"  I  come,  Signer  President,  to  say  to  you  that  I  have 
made  a  petition  to  his  Royal  Highness  the  Grand  Duke 


GOVERNMENT   STUDIO   REFUSED.  IO3 

in  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  studio  to  make  a  model  of  a 
statue  that  I  wish  to  exhibit  this  year  in  the  Academy. 
My  means  are  narrow,  because  I  have  a  family ;  and 
before  presenting  this  petition  to  the  Sovereign,  I  have 
thought  it  my  duty  to  inform  you,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  beg  your  aid,  and  to  use  your  influence  that  it  may 
be  answered  favourably." 

He  answered,  "  You  are  not  a  pupil  of  the  Academy, 
and  therefore  you  have  no  right  to  ask  for  a  studio, 
which  the  grace  of  the  Sovereign  grants  only  to  those 
who  have  completed  their  studies  in  our  Academy  of 
Fine  Arts." 

"  If  I  have  not  studied,"  I  answered,  "  at  the  Academy, 
I  have  competed  there,  and  gained  the  triennial  prize, 
which  is  the  end  of  the  studies  at  the  Academy." 

The  good  Signor  replied  with  impatience,  "Which,  then, 
do  you  think  that  you.  are,  Canova  or  Thorwaldsen  ?  " 

"  God  save  us,  Signor  President,  I  never  thought  this  ! 
But  it  may  be  permitted  to  me  to  observe,  that  even 
Canova  and  Thorwaldsen  began  from  small  beginnings, 
and  were  not  born  at  once  great  sculptors,  as  Minerva 
sprung  from  the  head  of  Jove." 

You  see  that  I  really  had  no  luck  this  morning ;  for 
the  Director,  rising,  said  to  me,  "Ah,  then,  as  you 
argue  in  this  way,  I  will  tell  you  that,  if  the  petition  is 
referred  to  me  for  information,  you  shall. have  nothing," 
and  then  reseated  himself. 

I  made  my  bow,  and  went  out.  But  when  I  was  out- 
side, and  wished  to  put  on  my  hat,  I  found  it  was  com- 
pletely crushed :  without  being  aware  of  it,  I  had  re- 
duced it  to  this  state.  So  much  the  better.  You  lose 
as  far  as  your  hat  is  concerned,  but  you  gain  in  char- 
acter; and  I  counsel  all  young  men  who  find  them- 
selves in  a  similar  situation  to  take  the  same  course. 


IC4        CAVALIERE   RAMIREZ   DI   MONTALVO. 

But  for  all  this,  I  repeat,  Cavaliere  Ramirez  di  Montalvo 
was  a  good  and  excellent  man ;  but  everything  irritated 
him  which  seemed  to  him  in  the  least  to  run  off  the  rails. 
In  his  view,  a  youth  who  had  not  come  out  of  the  wine- 
press of  the  Academy  could  have  little  good  in  him,  and 
he  looked  upon  him  as  being  a  schismatic  or  excommu- 
nicated person.  The  Academy  was  to  him  the  baptism 
of  an  artist,  and  outside  of  it  he  saw  neither  health  nor 
salvation.  I  fell  under  him,  and  he  crushed  me.  Farce 
sepulto. 

But  he  was  soon  obliged  to  go  back  on  this  academic 
puritanism.  His  friend  Cavaliere  Pietro  Benvenuti  spoke 
to  him  in  praise  of  this  germ  which  was  budding  forth 
outside  the  privileged  garden;  and  he  soon  began  to 
regret  having  treated  me  with  a  nonchalance  more  appro- 
priate for  a  pasha  than  a  Christian.  I  believe  this — and 
more,  I  am  sure  of  it ;  for  having  gone  one  day  to  invite 
him  to  come  and  see  a  statue  which  I  was  modelling,  he 
received  me  with  singular  kindness.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  never  seen  me  before,  much  less  had  spoken  to  me 
so  severely  only  a  few  months  before,  when  I  urged 
him  to  look  with  favour  on  my  petition  for  a  studio.  I 
was  moved  to  invite  him,  not  only  because  by  nature  I 
am  not  tenacious  in  my  resentments,  but  because  I  knew 
that  he  desired  to  see  me — perhaps  because  he  regretted 
not  having  been  able  to  further  my  request.  In  a  word, 
I  went  to  see  him,  and  found  him  most  kindly  disposed, 
as  I  have  said ;  and  he  accepted  my  invitation,  and  came 
to  call  upon  me  at  my  studio  in  San  Simone,  where  I 
modelled  my  Abel. 

I  have  said  that  Cavaliere  Montalvo  was  rather  defi- 
cient in  his  sentiment  and  taste  for  art,  but  he  liked  the 
contrary  to  be  thought  of  him.  He  was  not  indeed  en- 
tirely without  a  certain  discernment,  and  he  had  enough 


AN   AMATEUR  CRITIC.  1 05 

to  enable  him  to  distinguish  an  absolutely  bad  thing  from 
an  absolutely  good  thing.  He  was,  in  a  word,  a  con- 
noisseur in  a  general  way ;  but  his  dignity  as  Director  of 
the  Royal  Galleries,  and  even  more  as  President  of  the 
Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  required  him  to  conscientiously 
believe  himself  a  connoisseur  with  refined  taste.  What 
I  was  then  ignorant  of  in  this  respect  I  now  clearly 
know,  but  I  had  a  suspicion  of  this  from  the  manner  in 
which  he  looked  at  my  statue,  and  by  his  expressions  of 
praise,  which  were  interlarded  with  commonplaces  which 
he  had  learned  from  the  stale  formulas  of  the  Academy. 
And  in  order  that  I  should  not  imagine  that  he  had 
found  everything  as  it  should  be  in  the  statue,  he  wished 
to  point  out  some  defect,  and  what  he  discovered  was 
this,  that  the  left  ear  seemed  a  little  too  far  back,  by 
which  the  jaw  was  enlarged  beyond  what  it  should  be. 

I  have  promised  from  the  beginning  to  tell  the  truth, 
and  I  will  tell  it,  with  the  help  of  God,  even  to  the  end. 
I  must  here  confess  that  I  acted  like  a  hypocrite.  In- 
stead of  answering,  "  It  does  not  seem  so  to  me,  but  I 
will  measure  it  to  assure  myself,"  I  told  him  that  he  was 
right,  and  I  was  much  obliged  to  him  ;  and  "more,  when 
he  favoured  me  with  a  second  visit,  I  said  to  him  as 
soon  as  he  came  in — 

"  Look  at  the  ear." 

"  Have  you  compared  it  with  the  model  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  moved  it  a  little  more  forward  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  now  it  is  right." 

When  I  think  of  this,  now  that  I  am  old,  it  seems  to 
me  a  very  bad  thing,  a  most  vile  lie,  under  which  (may 
God  pardon  me  !)  was -concealed  perhaps  a  secret  senti- 
ment of  vengeance ;  and  yet  that  lie  made  him  a  friend 


IO6       GREAT  ARTIST — MISERABLE   IMPOSTOR. 

to  me,  and  so  he  remained  as  long  as  he  lived.  But 
thenceforward  I  have  always  guarded  myself  from  lying, 
and  above  all,  from  making  game  of  any  one  who 
trusted  me. 

I  return  to  the  event  of  the  exhibition.  My  name  was 
on  the  lips  of  all ;  some  praised  me  to  the  skies,  some 
despised  me  as  the  most  vulgar  of  impostors.  Bartolini, 
Pampaloni,  and  Santarelli  openly  assumed  my  defence. 
The  Grand  Duke  asked  Giuseppe  Sabatelli  about  it,  and 
he  assured  him  that  the  statue  was  really  modelled,  and 
not  cast  from  life,  and  that  he  had  been  an  eyewitness 
of  my  work,  staying  in  my  studio  every  morning,  and  had 
seen  me  working  at  it.  I  was  exposed  to  a  tempest  of 
words  and  looks  diametrically  opposed  to  each  other. 
The  meaning  of  the  two  parties  might  be  rendered  by 
precisely  these  words,  "  great  artist,"  "  miserable  im- 
postor." My  poor  wife  consoled  me  by  saying — 

"  Do  not  be  troubled,  do  not  listen  to  them.  They 
are  irritated  because  you  have  done  better  than  they. 
They  will  talk  and  talk,  and  at  last  they  will  hold  their 
peace." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Marina,  they  will  hold  their  peace ;  but 
in  the  meantime,  what  an  injury  they  have  done  me !  A 
certain  person  perhaps  would  have  given  me  an  order 
for  the  statue,  as  I  know ;  but  after  all  this  absurd  and 
evil-minded  chattering,  he  mistrusts  me,  and  will  now  do 
nothing,  and  I  am  crushed  and  overcome  by  the  very 
thing  which  ought  to  have  given  me  reputation  and 
cleared  my  path  for  me.  In  the  same  way  that  I  have 
made  this  statue,  I  know  that  I  can  make  another.  The 
will  to  do  it  is  not  wanting,  but  how  can  I  bear  the 
expense.  My  earnings,  as  I  well  see,  are  not  sufficient 
to  support  the  family,  and  to  pay  the  model,  the  rent  of 
the  studio  and  the  casting,  and  to  buy  what  is  necessary 


COUNT   DEL   BENINO.  IO7 

for  the  studio.  Besides,  I  tell  you,  dearest,  that  I  cannot 
allow  you  to  fatigue  yourself  with  so  much  work.  You 
labour  all  day  and  all  the  evening,  you  have  a  baby  to 
nurse,  you  get  little  repose  at  night,  and  do  you  think 
that  I  can  allow  you  thus  to  wear  your  strength  out  ?  I 
hoped  to  enable  you  to  get  some  rest,  and  to  lead  an 
easier  life,  and  I  thought  that  I  saw  before  us,  after  I 
had  breathed  the  last  breath  of  life  into  Abel,  the  begin- 
ning of  our  intellectual  and  loving  life  ;  and  now  I  find 
that  these  are  and  were  only  vain  hopes." 

"Do  not  be  troubled,  Narmi,"  said  that  blessed 
woman,  and  she  said  nothing  more,  only  her  eyes  were 
swimming  with  tears. 

.  In  the  meantime,  without  knowing  it,  I  had  a  friend, 
in  truth  a  real  friend  and  benefactor,  in  Count  F.  del 
Benino.  Count  Benino  was  an  old  man  of  noble  and 
ancient  family,  and  a  bachelor,  who  lived  in  his  own 
palace  in  the  Borgognissanti,  and  in  precisely  that  on 
the  Lung'  Arno  which  was  designed  by  the  able  architect 
and  engineer  Professor  Commendatore  Giuseppe  Poggi. 
Count  Benino  had  taken  a  liking  to  me  when  I  was  a 
little  boy  in  Sani's  shop.  He  was  a  great  and  very  intel- 
ligent lover  of  the  Fine  Arts,  and  everything  relating  to 
them,  and  was  extremely  interested  that  his  house  should 
be  a  model  of  good  taste,  from  the  modest  furniture  of 
the  entrance-hall  up  to  his  own  private  cabinet,  which 
was  a  wonder  to  behold.  The  walls  were  surrounded  by 
bookcases  of  solid  mahogany,  his  study  desk  was  also  of 
mahogany ;  the  chairs  were  covered  with  polished  leather, 
and  the  floors  were  of  inlaid  wood  and  polished  with 
wax.  The  books  on  the  shelves  were  bound  simply  in 
leather  in  the  English  style.  Upon  his  desk,  among 
his  books  and  papers,  were  various  objects  of  great 
value — as,  for  instance,  an  antique  bronze  inkstand  orna- 


108          COUNT  DEL  BENINO'S   KINDNESS. 

mented  with  figures  and  arabesques,  ivory  paper-cutters 
with  richly  carved  handles,  portraits  in  miniature  of 
persons  dear  to  him,  and  little  busts  in  bronze  and  fig- 
ures in  ivory  set  on  the  cases  of  the  desk,  which  were 
divided  into  compartments  to  hold  his  papers.  In 
person  he  was  tall  and  erect,  thin,  and  with  full  colour, 
blue  eyes,  and  perfectly  white  hair.  He  spoke  with 
invariable  urbanity  and  facility,  not  infrequently  with 
pungency,  but  always  with  proper  restraint.  He  dressed 
very  carefully,  and  he  liked  the  conversation  and  sought 
the  friendship  of  artists.  From  the  time  when  I  was  a 
youth  in  Sani's  shop  and  worked  for  him  as  a  wood- 
carver,  and  afterwards  while  I  was  working  by  myself  in 
the  Borghese  stable,  up  to  the  time  when  I  was  making 
the  Abel,  when  he  was  one  of  the  subscribers  to  my  peti- 
tion for  assistance,  and  indeed  the  largest  of  them,  he 
never  lost  sight  of  me,  but  often  came  to  pay  me  a  visit 
while  I  was  modelling  Abel,  and  showed  himself  de- 
lighted with  it,  and  sure  of  my  future ;  and  now,  perceiv- 
ing this  scandalous  plot  to  put  me  down,  he  was  indig- 
nant. He  came  to  seek  me  out  just  at  the  moment 
when  I  was  thoroughly  discouraged  and  knew  not  to 
what  saint  to  recommend  myself,  and  after  saluting  me 
with  his  customary  "  Sor  Giovanni,  che  fa  ?  "  ("  How  are 
you,  Mr  Giovanni  ?  "),  seated  himself  on  the  only  seat  I 
possessed,  and  seeing  that  I  was  oppressed  with  thought, 
though  I  endeavoured  to  put  a  gay  face  on  it,  said 
to  me — 

"  Oh,  don't  give  up  !  Courage  !  Don't  you  hear  how 
these  donkeys  bray  ?  What  they  want  is  a  good  cudgel 
and  a  hearty  beating.  Don't  think  about  it.  I  know 
what  I  am  talking  about.  I  frequent  the  studios,  and  I 
see  and  feel  what  a  disloyal  and  foolish  war  they  are 
waging.  But  do  not  give  them  time.  You  must  ward 


GENEROSITY   OF   COUNT   DEL   BENINO.      JOQ 

off  the  blow  and  give  them  two  back.  In  one  studio  I 
heard  a  fellow,  whom  I  will  not  stop  to  name  (but  names 
are  of  little  importance) — I  heard  a  fellow,  who,  with  a 
contemptuous  laugh,  said,  'The  Abel  he  could  cast, 
because  the  figure  is  lying  down,  but  a  standing  figure 
he  cannot  cast.  He  will  not  make  one  this  year,  nor 
any  other  year.'  And  all  the  others  laughed.  This 
happened  only  a  few  moments  ago,  and  I  have  come 
now  to  tell  you  that  it  is  your  duty  to  silence  these  snarl- 
ing curs.  So,  dear  Sor  Giovanni,  you  must  make  another 
statue,  and  this  time  a  standing  figure ;  and  .  .  .  now 
be  silent  a  moment.  I  imagine  very  well  what  you  will 
say.  I  understand  it  all,  and  I  say  to  you,  Quit  this 
studio,  which  is  not  fit  to  make  a  standing  figure  in,  and 
go  and  look  for  another  at  once.  Order  the  stands 
which  you  require,  think  out  your  statue,  and  I  will 
pay  whatever  sum  is  necessary.  You  know  where  I 
live ;  come  there,  and  you  will  find  a  register  on  which 
you  must  write  down  the  sum  that  you  need,  and  put 
your  signature  to  it ;  and  when  you  have  orders  and 
work  to  do,  which  will  not  fail  to  come,  and  have  a  sur- 
plus of  money,  you  may  pay  me  back  the  money  that 
I  advance.  Say  nothing.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  thanked, 
— first  of  all,  because  I  am  not  making  you  a  present, 
and  then  because  I  have  my  own  satisfaction  out  of  the 
proposition  I  make  to  you.  What  I  want  is  to  laugh  in 
the  face  of  these  rascals  who  are  now  deriding  you,  and  me 
too,  because  I  assert  that  I  have  seen  you  at  your  work. 
So  you  see  that  I,  too,  am  an  interested  party.  Without 
spending  a  penny,  we  have  an  advantage,  which,  with  all 
my  money,  I  could  not  otherwise  get.  And  now,  dear 
Sor  Giovanni,  a  rivederla.  I  shall  expect  you,  to  give  you 
the  money  you  need.  Lose  no  time,  keep  up  your 
spirits,  and  think  of  me  as  your  very  sincere  friend. 


I  10 


CHAPTER    VII. 


THE  GRAND  DUCHESS  MARIA  OF  RUSSIA  AND  THE  COMMISSION  FOR  THE  CAIN 
AND  ABEL — THE  PRINCE  OF  LEUCHTENBERG  AND  A  PLATE  OF  CAVIALE  AT 
CAFFE  DONEY — AN  UNUSUAL  AMUSliMENT  THAT  DID  SOME  GOOD — AGAIN 
THE  GENEROSITY  OF  COUNT  DEL  BENINO— BARTOLINl's  HUNCHBACK,  AND 
IN  CONSEQUENCE  A  RETURN  TO  THE  ABEL — BARTOLINI  GETS  ANGRY  WITH 
ME — EXAMINATION  OF  THE  MATERIALISTIC  OR  REALISTIC  IN  ART — EFFECTS 
OF  THE  REALISTIC— DO  NOT  HAVE  GIRLS  ALONE  BY  THEMSELVES  FOR  MODELS 
—SUBSCRIPTION  GOT  UP  BY  THE  SIENESE  TO  HAVE  MY  ABEL  EXECUTED  IN 
MARBLE— A  NEW  WAY  OF  CURING  A  COUGH — SIGNORA  LETIZIA's  RECEIPT, 
WHO  SENT  IT  AND  PAID  FOR  IT  HERSELF — ONE  MUST  NEVER  OFFER  WORKS 
GRATIS,  FOR  THEY  ARE  NOT  ACCEPTED — THE  GRAND  DUCHESS  MARIE  AN- 
TOINETTA  ORDERS  THE  "  GIOTTO  "  FOR  THE  UFFIZI  —  HAS  ABEL  KILLED 
CAIN? — STATUE  OF  PIUS  II. — A  FOOLISH  OPINION  AND  IMPERTINENT  ANSWER 
—  I  DEFVTHE  LAW  THAT  PROHIBITS  EATING. 


RAN  home  with  all  speed,  elated  and  full  of 
enthusiasm,  to  tell  my  wife  of  the  charming 
proposal  of  Count  Benino.  My  wife,  poor 
soul,  could  not  understand  all  this  delight, 
this  vehemence  and  excitement,  in  praise  of  that  kind  gen- 
tleman ;  and  without,  saying  it,  she  made  me  understand 
that  she  should  have  greatly  preferred  my  continuing  as 
a  wood-carver,  without  troubling  myself  about  an  art 
which  hitherto  had  only  given  me  disappointment  and 
worry.  With  her  eyes  she  seemed  to  say  to  me,  "  Don't 
bother  yourself,  Nanni,  about  it." 

I  looked  about  to  find  a  studio,  and  took  one  in  the 
Niccolini  buildings  in  Via  Tedesca,  now  Via  Nazionale. 


MODEL  OF   CAIN.  Ill 

I  ordered  two  large  modelling-stands — one  for  the  living 
model,  the  other  for  the  statue  in  clay.  "A  standing 
statue  he  will  not  make,"  they  said ;  but  I  will  make  it, 
and  in  movement  too.  The  idea  of  Cain  came  at  once 
into  my  head.  Cain,  the  first  homicide,  fratricide  !  A 
fierce  and  tremendous  subject,  and  one  of  great  difficulty. 
I  made  the  sketch,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
divined  the  movement  and  expression.  Among  the 
artists,  it  was  soon  known  that  I  had  taken  a  new  studio 
to  make  another  statue.  Those  who  had 'laughed  at  first, 
laughed  no  longer.  My  friends  encouraged  me,  and 
added  fuel  to  the  fire.  I  had  also  some  offers  for  the  Abel 
— insufficient  if  you  will,  but  enough  to  encourage  me. 
Among  the  others  I  accepted  that  of  Signer  Lorenzo  Mari- 
otti,  an  agent  of  the  Russian  Government,  who  lived  in 
his  own  house  in  the  Piazza.  Pitti.  He  came  to  see  me, 
and  said  that  he  should  like  to  order  the  statue  of  Abel, 
whenever  I  would  make  it,  for  what  it  cost  me,  and  when 
it  was  done  he  would  help  me  to  sell  it.  The  expenses 
were  calculated  at  800  scudi ;  and  he  offered  me  this 
price,  with  the  understanding  that  whatever  sum  it  was 
sold  for  above  the  800  scudi,  should  be  divided  be- 
tween us. 

The  marble  was  procured,  and  I  was  already  model- 
ling with  ardour  the  statue  of  Cain.  Fortunately  the 
Grand  Duchess  Maria  of  Russia,  daughter  of  the  Em- 
peror Nicholas,  was  passing  through  Florence.  She  had 
already  heard  the  discussion,  pro  and  con,  which  this 
statue  had  raised.  She  wished  to  see  it,  and  was  so  well 
pleased  by  it  that  she  did  not  conceal  her  delight.  She 
was  in  company  with  her  husband,  the  Prince  of  Leuchten- 
berg.  They  went  into  my  private  studio  and  saw  the 
Cain,  only  just  begun.  She  exchanged  some  words  with 
the  Prince,  and  he  was  much  pleased,  and  embraced  me. 


112  PRINCE   OF   LEUCHTENBERG. 

Then  the  Grand  Duchess,  pressing  my  hand,  said,  "The 
Abel  and  the  Cain  are  mine."  Then  they  departed. 
When  I  went  home  and  told  the  good  news  to  my  wife, 
it  seemed  as  if  she  had  a  little  more  faith  in  what  I  was 
so  convinced  of — viz.,  my  future  career  as  an  artist. 

For  the  rest  of  the  time  that  the  august  Prince  and  Prin- 
cess were  in  Florence,  he  never  omitted  to  pass  some  half- 
hours  of  the  morning  in  my  studio,  because  he  liked  so 
much  to  see  me  at  work.  He  spoke  Italian  extremely  well, 
and  it  amused  him  to  talk  with  my  model  Antonio  Petrai 
on  various  subjects ;  and  as  he  was  such  a  strong  and  well- 
made  fellow,  one  day  he  asked  him  if  he  would  like  to 
measure  his  strength  at  fisticuffs  with  any  one  ;  and  Petrai 
— who  knew  well  enough  who  it  was  who  asked  the  ques- 
tion, and  was  embarrassed  about  making  a  proper  reply — 
after  much  hesitation  could  only  say  "  Aho  !"  upon  which 
the  Prince  laughed  heartily  and  gave  him  something. 

Who  would  have  thought  that  such  a  handsome  youth, 
so  tall,  squarely  built,  and  so  spirited,  would  have  died 
only  a  few  years  later  of  an  insidious  disease  ?  He  was 
the  son  of  Prince  Beauharnais,  Viceroy  of  Italy  in  the 
troublous  times  of  Napoleon  I.  One  day  he  came  and 
carried  me  away  from  the  studio,  because  he  wished  to 
see  with  me  the  statues  which  ornament  our  Piazza  della 
Signoria  and  the  Loggia  of  Orsanmichele ;  but  first  he 
would  go  to  Doney's  to  breakfast.  As  soon  as  we  were 
seated,  he  ordered  caviale.  "  Caviale ! "  answered  the 
waiter,  "  we  have  none."  "  Bring  caviale?  said  the  Prince, 
sharply;  but  before  the  servant  could  reply  he  made 
a  sign  to  the  master,  who  was  at  the  desk,  and  he 
knocked  loudly  on  the  marble  to  call  the  waiter  back. 
After  a  little  while  a  magnificent  plate  of  caviale  was 
served.  I  wish  to  note  this  anecdote,  as  it  depicts  the 
courteousness,  affability,  and  popularity  of  this  Prince, 


COMMISSION   FOR   CAIN   AND   ABEL.          113 

who,  though  he  had  married  the  daughter  of  the  Emperor 
of  Russia,  had  not  forgotten  that  he  was  born  and  edu- 
cated in  Italy. 

In  the  meantime,  Mariotti,  by  order  of  the  Grand 
Duchess,  made  the  contract  for  the  two  statues,  Cain  and 
Abel,  and  the  price  fixed  for  the  Abel  was  i  $00  scudi,  and 
for  the  Cain  2000  scudi.  The  contract  which  I  had  made 
with  Mariotti  was  torn  up,  and  I  gave  him  out  of  my  first 
receipts  the  sum  he  had  given  me ;  but  as  to  the  remain- 
der, the  700  scudi,  which  was  to  be  divided  between  us,  he 
would  not  receive  it,  saying  that  the  Grand  Duchess 
had  already  paid  him  enough.  And  this,  for  Mariotti, 
whom  they  call  mangia-russi,  was  a  good  action. 

In  the  meantime  the  good  Count  del  Benino  lent  me 
a  considerable  sum  of  money  to  pay  the  rent  of  my  studio, 
for  the  modelling  stands  and  tools,  and  for  the  models, 
as  also  the  daily  sum  I  carried  home  for  household  ex- 
penses. This  was  all  registered  in  a  book,  with  the  sums, 
the  dates,  and  my  name  signed  in  receipt.  And  all  this 
together  came  to  the  amount  of  about  100  scudi. 

Now  that  I  had  two  good  commissions,  and  the  relative 
advances  on  them,  I  went  to  Palazzo  del  Benino,  this  time 
to  pay  rather  than  receive,  and  therefore  with  lighter  and 
freer  spirit.  I  was  anxious  to  cancel  this  debt,  which 
weighed  upon  my  mind  like  an  incubus,  which  I  had  felt 
was  increased  and  renewed  every  time  I  was  forced  by 
necessity  to  ask  for  more  money ;  and  poor  Del  Benino, 
who  perceived  my  reluctance,  encouraged  me,  and  made 
me  feel  that  it  was  indifferent  to  him  whether  he  gave 
more  or  less,  trying  to  distract  me  while  he  counted  out 
the  money.  But  this  time,  as  I  have  said,  I  was  gay  and 
light-hearted,  and  caused  my  name  to  be  announced  by 
the  servant  in  a  loud  voice  :  in  short,  I  was  in  bearing 
and  in  words  slightly  proud. 


114     l  OFFER  TO  REPAY  DEL  BENINO. 

The  Count  was  seated  writing  in  his  usual  place.  He 
put  down  his  pen,  and  staring  at  me  with  his  blue  eyes, 
said,  "  Sor  Giovanni,  welcome !  I  am  delighted  to 
see  you.  What  charming  thing  have  you  to  tell  me? 
Yes,  what  can  you  tell  me  that  I  do  not  already  know  ? 
To  begin,  then,  I  congratulate  you  truly — truly.  You  see, 
this  is  for  me  a  new  satisfaction  :  you  cannot  imagine  the 
pleasure  I  feel  in  now  seeing  certain  faces  cloudy  and 
sad  which  a  few  months  ago  were  bursting  with  laughter. 
And  I  divert  myself  very  much  playing  the  ignoramus 
with  them,  saying,  '  Then  it  appears  that  this  youth 
is  going  straight  ahead,  per  Bacco  !  The  Abel !  that 
stands  for  what  it  is — I  mean  to  say,  that  if  the  artist  has 
cast  it  from  life,  as  you  say,  the  Grand  Duchess  Maria 
has  caught  a  fine  crab;  but  the  Cain!  that  is  scarcely  be- 
gun, and  they  tell  me  that  she  has  seen  it  only  in  the 
clay,  and  liked  it,  and  given  the  order  for  it,  and  other 
like  things;  for  the  desire  to  torment  them  does  not  fail 
me,  and  they  were  much  teased  and  molested  by  my 
bitter  words,  which  I  pretended  not  to  mean  and  ran  on. 
So  I  have  diverted  myself,  and  so  I  will  divert  myself. 
Now,  then,  again  I  congratulate  you.  And  now  tell  me 
if  I  can  do  anything  for  you.  I  am  at  your  service." 

"  Signor  Conte,  I  have  come  to  repay  the  money  which 
you  have  lent  me,  with  so  much  generosity  and  kindness, 
to  enable  me  to  make  my  new  model  of  Cain,  which, 
God  be  thanked,  has  so  much  pleased  the  Grand  Duchess. 
If  I  had  not  already  begun  this,  she  could  not  have  seen 
it ;  and  who  knows  if  she  would  have  taken  the  risk  to 
order  even  the  Abel  ?  I  feel,  but  cannot  express  all  the 
importance  of  your  valuable  aid.  This  aid,  so  timely,  has 
been  for  me  a  second  life,  without  which,  who  knows  what 
would  have  become  of  me,  discouraged,  despised,  and 
probably  deserted  by  those  who  now  cry  out,  '  Beautiful, 


COUNT   DEL   BENINO   REFUSES   REPAYMENT.     115 

beautiful ! '  Here  am  I,  then,  to  thank  you  cordially,  and 
to  return  the  money  I  have  borrowed."  While  I  was  speak- 
ing the  Count  gradually  lost  that  gay  and  lively  expres- 
sion which  was  habitual  to  him,  and  at  my  last  words 
looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  seriousness  and 
regret  that  I  knew  not  how  to  interpret.  Then  he 
said — 

"There  is  time  enough  for  this;  don't  be  in  such  a 
hurry.  This  is  only  the  beginning;  a  thousand  things  may 
occur,  and  it  will  do  you  no  harm  to  have  a  little  money 
in  the  house.  On  the  contrary,  it  may  be  convenient. 
Now  think  of  study  and  your  reputation;  and  to  pay 
your  debt  to  me  there  is  time  enough." 

"  Listen,  Signor  Conte :  I  have  come  here  on  purpose, 
and  have  brought  the  money.  I  do  not  need  it  for  the 
present.  Let  me  pay  this  material  debt ;  that  other  great 
moral  substantial  debt,  the  infinite  good  you  have  done 
me,  I  can  never  repay,  and  never  should  wish  to."  The 
Count  grew  even  more  earnest  and  serious.  He  held  the 
paper  of  our  accounts  mechanically  in  his  hand,  and  tried 
to  prove  to  me  that  there  was  time  enough,  and  that  I 
should  keep  the  money ;  but  seeing  that  I  insisted,  and 
held  out  my  hand  for  the  papers  to  see  the  sum  due, 
drew  it  back  with  vivacity,  and  with  flashing  eyes  said 
to  me — 

'*Oh,  leave  me,  dear  Sor  Giovanni,  this  satisfaction." 

He  tore  up  the  paper  and  threw  it  in  the  basket.  I 
was  mortified,  and  had  half  a  mind  to  be  offended,  but 
the  kind  expressions  of  this  excellent  man  prevailed. 
He  took  my  hand  and  pressed  it  between  his,  saying — 

"Don't  take  it  amiss,  but  leave  me  the  consolation 
that  I  have  been  able  to  assist,  even  in  the  least  degree, 
in  the  sale  of  your  work — as  you  say,  opened  for  you  a 
future  which  I  hope  may  prove  full  of  honours.  And 


Il6  IDEALISTS  AND   ACADEMICIANS. 

moreover,  you  must  know  that  it  has  always  been  my 
firm  intention  to  assist  you  until  the  road  was  open  and 
easy  before  you.  I  did  not  at  once  open  my  mind  to 
you,  because  then,  perhaps,  you  would  not  have  ac- 
cepted the  offer;  therefore  I  said,  you  will  sign  the  con- 
tract,— and  in  good  time  you  will  pay.  Now  you  have 
really  paid  me,  because  that  small  sum  of  money  has 
secured  your  future  and  given  me  a  great  satisfaction." 

It  is  necessary  now  for  me  to  touch  upon  a  question 
vital  to  art,  and  which  was  being  agitated  just  at  the 
time  I  was  modelling  the  Abel.  This  work  served  to 
inflame  it,  and  to  encourage  as  much  one  side  as  the 
other — that  is,  either  the  idealists  or  the  academicians  in 
opposition  to  Bartolini,  who,  while  he  was  not  natural- 
istic in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  proposed  to  in- 
troduce this  principle  into  his  teaching  by  bold  inno- 
vations. It  is  necessary  for  me  to  speak  of  this,  inas- 
much as  this  dispute  and  my  statue  served  as  the  tar- 
get for  the  shots  of  one  as  well  as  the  other  parties, 
and  had  the  effect  of  estranging  Bartolini  from  me — 
although,  as  we  shall  see  later,  it  was  another  and  less 
justifiable  cause  that  made  the  great  sculptor  indignant 
with  me. 

When  Stefano  Ricci,  Master  of  Sculpture  in  the  Royal 
Academy,  died,  it  was  wisely  decided  to  call  Lorenzo 
Bartolini  to  his  place  (this  was  a  little  before  I  modelled 
the  Abel),  and  Bartolini  took  possession  of  the  school 
with  the  air  of  a  conqueror.  Various  were  the  causes 
for  his  extremely  overbearing  conduct.  First,  the  oppo- 
sition his  demands  encountered  on  the  part  of  the  Presi- 
dent and  others  of  the  Academy;  then  his  before-men- 
tioned principles  of  reform,  diametrically  opposed  to 
those  now  taught  in  the  school ;  also,  finally,  the  heated 
political  and  religious  opinions,  which  were  discussed 


IMITATION    OF   NATURE — THE   HUNCHBACK.     I  I/ 

with  little  charity  on  either  side.  He  altered  everything, 
theories  and  systems.  The  position  of  his  assistant, 
Professor  Costoli,  was  unpleasant ;  but  he  was  obliged  to 
remain.  He  prohibited  all  study  from  statues,  and  re- 
stricted the  whole  system  of  teaching  to  an  imitation 
only  of  nature;  and  he  pushed  this  principle  so  far,  that 
he  introduced  a  hunchback  into  the  school  and  made 
the  young  students  copy  him.  This  daring  novelty 
raised  a  shout  of  indignation  :  they  cried  out  against  the 
profanation  of  the  school,  of  the  sacred  principles  of  the 
beautiful,  &c. ;  said  that  he  was  ignorant  of  his  duties  as 
master,  and  that  he  misled  the  youths,  extinguishing  in 
them  the  love  of  the  beautiful  by  the  study  of  deformity ; 
and  many  other  accusations  of  this  agreeable  sort,  in  a 
freer  and  more  pointed  style  than  mine. 

Neither  was  Bartolini  the  man  to  allow  this  deluge  to 
fall  upon  his  head,  which,  together  with  much  that  was 
true,  carried  with  it  a  torrent  of  errors  and  unreason- 
able absurdities.  As  he  understood  well  the  clever  use  of 
the  pen,  he  launched  forth  certain  articles  so  stinging  and 
cutting  that  they  were  delightful.  The  Abbe  Chiari  and 
the  Abbe  Vicini  were  treated  by  old  Baretti  with  dis- 
tinction as  compared  with  the  treatment  Bartolini  gave 
the  Anonymous  Society  of  the  Via  del  Cocomero.  I 
recollect  one  of  the  foolish  arguments  raised  by  his 
detractors  against  Bartolini,  which  was  so  ingenuous 
that  it  showed  in  its  author  more  emptiness  and  small- 
ness  of  mind  than  cleverness  or  bad  faith.  This  is  what 
he  said:  "The  expert  gardener,  by  means  of  his  art, 
transforms  a  forest  which  is  rough  and  horrid,  as  nature 
made  it,  into  a  beautiful  grove,  by  rooting  out  plants, 
opening  alleys,  pruning  into  a  straight  line  the  pro- 
jecting branches,"  &c.  How  much  this  comparison 
of  the  grove  to  the  human  figure  diverted  Bartolini  is 


Il8      BARTOLINI'S   VIEWS   AND   CHARACTER. 

not  to  be  told.  I  have  not  before  me  his  sharp  stinging 
words,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  spoil  them  by  repeating 
them  from  memory,  but  to  me  he  appeared  to  be  as 
pleasant  and  brilliant  a  writer  as  he  was  admirable  as 
an  artist. 

This  dispute  was  rekindled,  as  I  have  said,  on  the 
appearance  of  my  Abel.  I  do  not  remember  by  which 
side  was  first  pronounced  my  name  and  my  work,  but 
certain  it  is  that  Bartolini  said  that  the  most  convincing 
proof  of  the  excellence  of  his  method  was  "  precisely  the 
Abel,"  which  statue  was  made  by  a  youth  who  knew 
nothing  of  Phidias  or  Alcamenes,  nor  of  the  others — who 
had  not  breathed  the  stifling  air  of  the  Academy — that  he 
had  trusted  himself  to  beautiful  nature,  and  that  he  had 
copied  her  with  fidelity  and  love.  After  this  there  was 
fresh  sarcasm  against  him  and  his  system  of  copying 
nature,  even  when  deformed,  &c.  Added  to  this,  there 
were  long-winded  eulogies  on  my  work,  and  I  could  see 
that  these  were  advanced  merely  to  put  this  man  in  bad 
humour. 

He  had  taken  a  dislike  to  me,  and  wished  to  tell 
me  so.  He  sent  his  father-in-law,  Dr  Costantino  Boni, 
to  summon  me.  I  went,  and  when  I  arrived  he  received 
me  in  the  great  ante-room,  and  said  to  me,  with  his  usual 
striking  bluntness,  "  I  have  sent  for  you  to  tell  you  that 
I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  again."  How  astounded  I  was 
by  these  words  you  can  imagine  who  know  the  veneration 
and  affection  I  had  always  felt  for  this  celebrated  master; 
and  I  could  only  reply — "  Why  ?  " 

"  Why  !  You  have  no  more  need  of  me,  nor  I  of  you ; 
stay  in  your  own  studio,  and  don't  come  any  more  to 
mine." 

It  appeared  to  me  so  strange,  not  to  say  unreasonable, 
that  he  should  send  for  me  to  tell  me  not  to  come  to 


BARTOLINI   REFUSES  A   RECONCILIATION.      119 

him,  that  I  could  not  do  less  than  reply  that  I  had  come 
to  his  studio  because  he  had  sent  for  me,  and  that  I 
was  very  sorry  to  be  forbidden  to  return,  as  I  always 
wished  to  learn. 

"  No  matter,"  replied  he ;  "  you  understand — each  one 
for  himself,"  and  this  he  said  in  French.  Because  you 
must  know,  that  when  he  was  excited  he  preferred  that 
language  either  for  speaking  or  writing. 

Notwithstanding  this,  the  next  year,  as  I  wished  for  a 
reconciliation, — having  made  the  model  in  clay  of  the 
Giotto,  which  I  wanted  to  try  in  the  niche  of  the  Uffizi, 
to  hear  the  opinion  of  my  friends  about  it,  and  to  correct 
it  where  it  was  necessary,  before  its  execution  in  marble, 
— I  wrote  to  Bartolini  begging  him  to  come  to  see  my 
statue  in  its  place  to  give  me  his  authoritative  opinion. 
He  replied  in  a  manner  specially  his  own— I  might 
almost  say  with  his  own  brutal  sincerity, — that  which 
distinguished  him  from  his  sugared  and  often  hypo- 
critical contemporaries.  He  could  not  deceive;  he 
held  me  in  aversion,  and  he  wished  me  to  know  it,  not 
by  his  silence,  but  by  a  letter.  Here  it  is  :  "  Dearest, 
the  thing  which  above  all  things  I  like  in  this  world  is 
to  see  the  races  in  the  Cascine;  but  as  I  have  so 
much  work  which  prevents  me,  just  imagine  if  I  shall 
come  to  see  your  statue?" 

Observe,  I  do  not  say  that  I  expected  precisely  such  a 
reply,  and  I  was  a  little  stung  by  it ;  but  I  understood 
him,  and  really  liked  it  better  than  if  he  had  made  an 
excuse  and  told  a  lie.  All  men  should  be  true  to  them- 
selves. Bartolini  was  still  angry  with  me,  as  I  found  out 
afterwards,  because,  in  the  discussion  about  the  hunch- 
back, my  name  being  brought  forward,  I  did  not  enter 
into  its  defence.  In  fact,  if  a  similar  discussion  were 
now  to  arise  on  this  subject,  it  would  seem  to  me 


120         BELLO   IDEALE — BELLO   NATURALE. 

cowardly  to  draw  back  and  not  clear  up  a  point  of 
controversy  of  the  greatest  importance ;  but  then,  being 
young  and  a  beginner,  how  could  I  presume  to  offer  my 
support  to  Bartolini  ?  Would  it  not  appear  pretentious 
in  me  even  to  assume  to  be  the  defender  of  so  great  a 
master  ?  It  seemed  to  me  so  then,  and  it  seems  so  now. 
Let  it  not  be  thought  that  I  did  not  do  this  while  argu- 
ing with  my  artist  friends ;  it  was  quite  otherwise,  and 
this  was  the  way  in  which  I  drew  upon  myself  their  ill 
feeling  and  dislike.  And  the  defence  of  the  Bartolini 
system  which  I  then  made  was  in  a  much  more  absolute 
sense  than  that  which  I  now  make ;  for  while  I  see  that 
Bartolini  was  right  in  carrying  back  art  to  its  first  source 
— that  is  (and  we  should  thank  him  for  that),  to  the  imita- 
tion of  nature — he  went  beyond  bounds  in  proposing  a  de- 
formed person  as  a  model.  It  is  very  true  that  Bartolini 
never  affirmed,  as  his  enemies  assert,  that  a  hunchback 
was  beautiful.  He  said  that  it  was  as  difficult  to  copy 
a  hunchback  well  as  a  well-formed  person,  and  that  a 
youth  ought  to  copy  as  faithfully  the  one  as  the  other ; 
and  when  the  eye  had  been  educated  to  discover  the 
most  minute  differences  in  the  infinite  variety  of  nature, 
and  the  hand  able  to  portray  them,  then,  but  only  then, 
was  the  time  to  speak,  and  select  from  nature  the  most 
perfect,  which  others  called  the  bello  ideate,  and  he  the 
bello  naturale.  But  that  blessed  hunchback  still  remains, 
who,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  is  not  the  real 
truth;  for  in  what  is  deformed  there  is  something  de- 
ficient, which  removes  it  from  the  truth,  however  natural 
it  may  be.  It  is  a  defect  in  nature,  and  therefore  not 
true  to  nature. 

But  it  happened  then  as  it  happens  always :  the 
reform  of  Bartolini  and  the  dogmas  of  the  academicians 
never  came  to  an  end.  They  might  have  confined 


COPYING   OF  ANTIQUE   STATUES.  121 

themselves  to  the  indisputable  principle  that  one  should 
imitate  life  in  its  infinite  scale  of  variety,  avoiding 
always  deformity.  But  once  they  had  begun  with  the 
meagre  child,  the  adipose  old  man,  the  lean  or  flabby 
youth,  they  went  on  through  thick  and  thin.  It  would 
not  have  been  so  bad  had  they  really  appreciated  what 
Bartolini  meant  to  say,  and  that  is,  that  copying  anything 
was  very  well  as  a  mere  exercise  and  means  of  learning 
one's  art — or,  to  use  his  expression,  of  "holding  the 
reins  of  art";  but  the  misfortune  was,  that  some  took 
the  means  for  the  end,  and  so  went  wrong. 

But  nevertheless,  this  Bartolinian  reform  was  of  great 
advantage.  Let  us  remember  how  sculpture  was  then 
studied.  The  teaching  of  Ricci  was  only  a  long  and 
tedious  exercise  of  copying  wholesale  the  antique 
statues,  good  and  bad ;  and  what  was  worse,  the  criterion 
of  Greek  art  was  carried  into  the  study  of  nude  life — the 
characteristic  forms  of  the  antique  statues  supplanting 
those  of  the  living  model.  The  outlines  were  added  to 
and  cut  away  with  a  calm  superiority,  which  was  even 
comical.  The  abdominal  muscles  were  widened,  the 
base  of  the  pelvis  narrowed,  in  order  to  give  strength  and 
elegance  to  the  figure.  The  model  was  never  copied ; 
the  head  was  kept  smaller,  and  the  neck  fuller,  so  that, 
although  the  general  effect  was  more  slender  and  more 
robust,  the  character  was  falsified,  and  was  always  the 
same,  and  always  conventional.  This  restriction  of 
nature  to  a  single  type  led  directly  to  convention- 
ality ;  and  once  this  direction  was  taken,  and  this  habit 
of  working  from  memory,  following  always  a  pre-estab- 
lished type,  the  artist  gradually  disregarded  the  beautiful 
variety  of  nature,  and  not  only  did  not  notice  it,  but  held 
it  in  suspicion,  believing  that  nature  is  always  defective, 
and  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  correct  it ;  and  in 


122       HOW   FAR    NATURE   IS   TO   BE   COPIED. 

this,  they  said,  lies  the  secret  of  Art.  And  yet  Barto- 
lini  cried  aloud,  and,  so  to  speak,  strained  his  voice  to 
make  himself  understood,  and  stood  up  on  a  table  and 
beat  his  drum  for  the  hunchback.  But  as  soon  as  a  suf- 
ficient number  of  people  is  collected  to  make  a  respec- 
table audience,  one  must  lay  aside  the  great  drum  and 
begin  to  speak  seriously.  And  this  is  just  what  the 
maestro  did :  he  gave  up  the  hunchback,  inculcated  the 
imitation  of  beautiful  nature  in  all  its  varieties  of  sex, 
age,  and  temperament.  But,  in  the  ears  of  the  greater 
number  of  persons  the  beat  of  the  great  drum  still 
sounded,  and  the  words  of  Bartolini  were  not  under- 
stood. From  that  time  to  this,  there  have  been  no 
more  statues  of  Apollo,  Jove,  and  Minerva.  Chased 
from  this  earth,  they  returned  to  their  place  on  Olympus 
— and  there  they  still  remain. 

Still  the  seed  of  deformity  had  been  sown,  and  struck 
strong  roots.  There  are  some  men  who  grub  in  filth 
and  dirt  with  pure  delight,  and  have  for  the  ugly  and 
evil  a  special  predilection,  because,  as  they  say,  these  are 
as  true  representatives  of  nature  as  what  is  beautiful 
and  good,  and  are  in  fact  a  particular  phase  of  that 
truth  which,  as  a  whole,  constitutes  the  truly  beautiful. 
And  reasoning  thus,  this  school,  or  rather  this  coterie, 
has  given  us,  and  still  gives  us,  the  most  strange 
and  repulsive  productions,  improper  and  lascivious  in 
subject,  and  in  form  a  servile  copy  of  such  offensively 
ugly  models  as  Mother  Nature  produces  when  she  is 
not  well.  What  would  you  say,  dear  reader,  if  you 
were  ever  to  see  a  hideous  little  baby,  crying  with 
his  ugly  mouth  wide  open,  because  his  bowl  of  pap  has 
fallen  out  of  his  hand  ?  or  an  infamous  and  bestial  man, 
with  the  gesticulations  expressive  of  the  lowest  and  most 
vicious  desires?  or  a  woman  vomiting  under  a  cherry- 


MODEL   OF   BEATRICE   PORTINARI.  123 

tree  because  she  has  eaten  too  much?  or  other  similar 
filthinesses  of  subject  and  imitation,  which  are  dis- 
gusting even  to  describe  ?  For  myself,  I  am  not  a  fan- 
atic for  ancient  Art :  on  the  contrary,  I  detest  the  aca- 
demic and  conventional ;  but  I  confess  that,  rather  than 
these  horrors,  I  should  prefer  to  welcome  Cupid,  and 
Venus,  and  Minerva,  and  the  Graces,  and  in  a  word  all 
Olympus.  But,  good  heavens  !  is  there  no  possibility  of 
confining  one's  self  within  limits  ?  And  if  we  abandon 
Olympus  and  its  deities,  is  it  necessary  to  root  and  grub 
in  the  filth  of  the  Mercato  Vecchio  and  in  the  brothel  ? 

Now  we  will  return  to  our  story.  At  the  time  I  was 
modelling  the  Cain,  and  as  it  were  for  the  purpose  of 
repose,  I  made  a  little  figure  of  Beatrice  Portinari, 
which  I  afterwards  repeated  in  marble,  I  know  not  how 
many  times.  For  this  statue  I  had  used  as  a  model  a 
tolerably  pretty  young  girl  who  was  named  likewise 
Portinari.  I  tell  this  little  story  for  the  instruction  of 
young  artists.  There  will  even  be  two  of  these  stories, 
for  I  omitted  one  in  speaking  of  the  Cariatidi  of  the 
Rossini  Theatre ;  and  these  little  matters  show  how  one 
should  treat  the  model.  One  morning,  when  I  had  the 
Portinari  for  a  model,  the  curate  Cecchi  of  the  Santissima 
Annunziata  knocked  at  my  door  and  told  me  that  he 
wished  to  come  in  to  have  a  few  words  with  me.  I 
replied  that  for  the  moment  I  could  not  attend  to  him, 
as  I  had  a  model,  but  that  if  he  would  have  the  goodness 
to  come  back  a  little  later,  we  should  then  be  alone,  and 
he  could  speak  to  me  at  his  ease.  After  dinner  he 
returned,  and  said,  "Have  you  a  certain  Portinari  for 
a  model?" 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"  Then  you  must  know  that  this  girl  is  engaged  to  my 
nephew ;  and  as  I  have  learned  that  she  comes  to  you  as 


124  A   MODEL   AND   HER   LOVER. 

a  model,  and  as  I  absolutely  will  not  allow  my  nephew 
to  marry  a  model,  I  have  already  so  told  the  girl,  and 
she  denies  that  she  comes  to  you.  Now  I  beg  that  you 
will  do  me  the  favour  to  let  me  come  in  when  she 
is  here.  I  will  then  surprise  her,  and  blow  into  the  air 
this  marriage  arranged  with  my  nephew." 

"  Listen,"  I  said.  "  This  sort  of  thing  I  do  not  like. 
I  cannot  lend  myself  to  do  an  injury  of  this  kind  to  this 
poor  girl,  who  comes  here  to  be  my  model.  She  has 
confided  to  me  that  she  is  in  want  of  money,  having 
larger  demands  than  her  daily  earnings  will  supply. 
She  has  said  nothing  about  her  being  engaged,  in  which 
case  I  would  not  have  employed  her  unless  her  mother 
or  other  near  relation  came  with  her.  But,  since  it 
seems  to  me  reasonable  that  you  should  not  wish  your 
future  relation  to  go  out  as  a  model,  I  will  promise  you 
not  to  so  employ  her  any  more ;  and  the  first  time  she 
comes,  I  will  tell  her  that  I  do  not  want  her  again,  and  I 
will  warn  her  not  to  go  to  others.  Are  you  content  ?  " 

He  seemed  to  be  tolerably  well  satisfied,  and  I  did 
as  I  had  promised. 

Here  is  the  other  little  story  of  the  model  of  the 
Cariatidi.  Every  morning  there  came  to  me  as  a  model 
a  girl  who  lived  in  the  Prato,  and  was  a  weaver.  The 
first  morning,  she  came  to  the  studio  with  a  subbio.1  I 
took  no  notice  of  it ;  but  the  second  and  the  third,  as 
well  as  the  fourth  time,  she  had  always  under  her  arm 
this  clumsy  and  heavy  thing,  so  I  asked  her — 

"  Why  do  you  carry  about  that  subbio  ?  " 

She  answered :  "  I  have  a  lover.  If  I  meet  him  in 
the  street,  I  tell  him  that  I  am  going  to  my  employers." 

"  What  occupation  has  your  lover  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  butcher." 

1  Weaver's  beam. 


A  MODEL  AND  HER  LOVER.       125 

Ah !  thought  I.  "  Look  here,  you  must  do  me  the 
favour  to  bring  your  mother  with  you  when  you  come 
again." 

"The  mother  cannot  leave  her  work." 

"  Then  bring  some  one  else ;  one  of  your  relations, 
or  a  lodger — at  all  events  some  one.  I  will  not  have  you 
here  alone." 

I  had  scarcely  spoken  these  words  when  I  heard  a 
knock  at  the  door.  "  Hark  !  it  is  your  lover  who  knocks," 
I  said,  as  a  joke. 

I  went  and  opened  the  door,  and  found  there  a  sturdy 
youth  as  red  as  a  lobster. 

"  Who  do  you  want  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Are  you  the  painter?" 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  painter." 

"  Nonsense !  let  me  come  in.  You  have  got  Anina 
in  there  to  paint.  I  want  to  have  one  word  with  her, 
and  will  go  away  at  once." 

"And  I  tell  you  that  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
talking  about." 

"If  you  take  it  so,"  he  said,  "let  me  come  in;" 
and  he  pushed  the  door  with  all  his  force. 

I,  who  had  been  warned,  was  ready  with  all  my 
strength,  and  shut  the  door  in  his  face.  I  went  back 
into  the  studio,  and  found  the  girl,  who,  only  as  yet  half 
dressed,  was  trembling  like  a  leaf.  I  crossed  the  court 
of  Palazzo  Borghese,  and  opened  carefully  the  door 
which  gave  upon  the  Via  Pandolfini,  and  made  signs 
to  the  girl  to  follow  me.  I  looked  out  on  the  street 
to  make  sure  that  the  youth  was  not  there,  and  said  to 
the  girl  hastily,  "  Go  away,  and  don't  come  back  to  me, 
even  if  you  are  accompanied  by  some  one." 

The  young  man  stayed  in  the  Via  del  Palagio,  and 
walked  up  and  down  for  some  hours  before  my  door ; 


126  SUBSCRIPTION   FOR   THE  ABEL. 

but  I  saw  no  more  of  him,  and  know  nothing  more. 
The  conclusion  :  girls  as  models — never  alone. 

I  return  to  where  I  left  off — to  the  Cain.  There  was 
in  Florence  at  that  time  a  certain  English  lady,  Mrs 
Letitia  Macartney,  who  had  been  living  for  some  time  in 
Siena.  She  wished  so  much  to  see  the  Abel  reproduced 
in  marble,  that  on  her  return  to  Siena  she  issued  a  paper 
which  invited  the  Sienese  to  make  a  subscription  for  this 
purpose.  I  have  before  me  that  paper,  dated  i2th 
December  1842,  a  few  days  before  the  Grand  Duchess  of 
Russia  had  given  me  her  commission.  This  invitation  to 
my  townsmen  had  a  great  success,  for  in  a  few  days  sheets 
were  covered  with  signatures,  among  which  all  classes 
figured —  beginning  with  the  Governor  Serristori,  the  Arch- 
bishop, the  clergy,  the  university,  the  gentry,  and  the 
people,  and  finally  the  religious  corporations.  Certainly, 
that  excellent  lady  could  not  have  had  a  better  result  from 
her  touching  appeal,  which  ran  as  follows  :  "  I  beg  the 
Sienese  not  to  reject  my  humble  petition,  and  that  the 
poor  as  well  as  the  rich,  whoever  reads  these  words,  will 
put  his  signature,  and  will  contribute  a  half paul  to  assist 
his  townsman,  who  has  so  well  proved  that  he  deserves 
encouragement.  Those  who  wish  to  give  more  than  the 
small  proposed  sum  can  privately  satisfy  their  generous 
impulses  in  the  way  they  think  best, — on  this  paper  they 
are  begged  not  to  exceed  the  sum  named."  And  by  half 
pauls  only,  the  not  small  sum  of  100  scudi  was  collected  ; 
and  if  this  good  lady  had  added  that  the  half  paul  was  to 
be  paid  every  month  for  a  year  or  fourteen  months,  I  am 
sure  that  my  townsmen  would  not  have  refused  it,  and  that 
the  Abel  would  be  to-day  at  Siena. 

The  sum  of  money  and  the  list  of  subscribers  were 
sent  to  me,  and  I  preserve  the  latter  jealously;  and  after 
these  many  years  I  read  over  the  names  with  heartache, 


MRS   LETITIA   MACARTNEY'S   KINDNESS.      1 27 

thinking  how  all  these  have  disappeared,  together  with 
the  good  Signora  Letizia.  And  now  I  am  speaking  of 
her,  I  will  mention  something  which  will  cause  her  to  be 
appreciated  and  loved,  even  as  I  loved  and  admired 
her. 

A  short  time  after  she  had  issued  the  appeal  for  my 
Abel,  she  came  with  a  nephew  and  her  two  sisters  to 
establish  herself  in  Florence.  She  was  about  fifty  years 
of  age,  enthusiastic  for  the  beautiful  wherever  she  found 
it.  She  had  a  small  gallery  of  ancient  pictures  which  she 
had  collected  with  careful  study  in  her  wanderings  through 
Italy.  She  had  taken  an  apartment  in  the  Piazza  di 
Santa  Maria  Novella,  and  I  often  went  there  with  my  wife 
to  pass  the  evening ;  and  on  her  part  the  Signora  Letizia 
often  came  to  look  me  up  in  my  studio.  She  liked  to 
discuss  with  me  artistic  things,  and  when  I  could  not 
attend  to  her,  she  said  good-bye  and  went  away. 

Then  it  was,  either  from  too  hard  work  or  on  account 
of  the  dampness  of  the  room  in  which  I  worked,  or  both 
together,  I  took  so  tiresome  and  obstinate  a  cough,  that 
it  gave  me  no  peace  night  or  day.  I  tried  many  things 
to  get  rid  of  it,  and  all  in  vain — decoctions,  ass's  milk, 
care,  all  were  useless.  La  Signora  Letizia  havrng  urged 
me  a  thousand  times  to  take  care  of  myself  and  to  get 
rid  of  that  cough,  said  to  me  so  seriously  that  it  made 
me  laugh — 

"  It  is  absolutely  necessary  for  you  to  get  well." 

"  Bravo  ! "  I  said ;  "  that  is  what  I  have  been  thinking  of 
for  the  past  month,  and  I  have  done  everything  for  that 
purpose — the  advice  and  prescriptions  of  the  physicians 
have  not  been  neglected ;  but  now  seriously  I  must  get 
well — Go  away,  cough  ! " 

"  No,  don't  joke ;  you  must  get  well,  and  I  mean  to 
cure  you.  Listen,"  she  said,  "  what  you  ought  to  do :  you 


128  SHE   LINES   THE   STUDIO   WALLS. 

should  buy  a  quantity  of  pine-wood,  and  with  this  line 
all  the  walls  of  your  studio  from  top  to  bottom,  leaving 
space  between  the  wood  and  the  wall ;  and  you  must  do 
the  same  for  the  floor.  Have  the  window  open  some 
hour  of  the  day  when  you  are  not  in  the  studio,  that  the 
current  of  air  may  not  do  you  harm." 

It  seemed  an  odd  thing  to  me.  I  could  not  understand 
what  all  this  wood  had  to  do  with  my  cough ;  but  to  con- 
tent her,  I  said  that  I  would  do  as  she  advised.  In 
the  meantime  I  continued  to  cough  in  spite  of  the  pot 
of  lichen  which  I  kept  hot  in  my  studio;  and  every 
day  when  this  poor  lady  came  to  see  me  and  saw  that 
her  advice  was  not  followed,  she  appeared  serious  and 
disappointed,  and  finally  said — 

"  Do  you  think,  Signer  Dupre,  that  my  advice  could  do 
you  harm  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  said. 

u  Then  why  don't  you  follow  it  ?  " 

"  I  must  wait  a  few  days ;  just  at  present  I  cannot.  But 
I  will  do  it — of  this  you  may  be  sure ;  and  I  am  very 
grateful  to  you  :  it  seems  to  me  that  it  will  be  more  com- 
fortable and  warmer." 

She  soon  went  away,  and  I  seriously  considered  that  I 
ought  to  try  and  content  her,  not  that  I  thought  the 
remedy  effective.  I  said  to  myself — "  My  trouble  is  either 
a  cold  or  something  else ;  it  is  in  the  stomach,  or  the 
throat,  or  the  bronchial  tubes,  and  surely  is  not  owing  to 
the  walls  of  my  studio.  But  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  must 
satisfy  her.  Certainly  it  will  cost  something  to  line  all 
the  studio  with  wood  from  top  to  bottom,  and  the  floor ; 
but  what  a  strange  idea  has  come  into  this  lady's  head, 
and  with  what  seriousness  and  impressiveness  she  urges 
me  to  use  pine-wood  ! " 

Shortly  after,  I  heard  a  knock  at  the  door  and  saw  three 


MY  STUDIO  IS   LINED.  129 

or  four  loads  of  boards  in  the  street.  The  head  carter 
said  to  me — 

"  Is  this  wood  to  come  here  ?  " 

I  had  ordered  no  wood,  I  replied.  Then  he  showed 
me  a  card  on  which  was  written  my  name  and  the 
number  of  my  studio,  and  added — 

"  This  wood  has  been  ordered  and  paid  for,  including 
the  carriage,  and — is  it  to  come  here  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  I  said,  "it  is  to  come  here."  It  was  un- 
loaded, and  I  gave  the  men  a  little  money,  for  although 
they  had  been  paid,  it  would  do  them  no  harm.  I  sent 
immediately  to  call  Petrai,  who,  besides  being  a  model, 
was  also  a  carpenter,  and  told  him  that  I  wished,  in  the 
quickest  possible  manner,  to  use  this  wood  to  line  the 
studio  walls  and  plank  the  floor ;  that  he  was  to  employ 
as  many  men  as  were  necessary,  and  that  they  could  not 
go  to  bed  until  this  work  was  done. 

The  blacksmith  was  immediately  set  to  work  on  the 
irons  which  were  to  support  the  boards,  the  mason  to 
fasten  them  to  the  walls,  and  men  to  saw  and  nail. 
All  the  day  and  all  the  evening  it  appeared  to  be  the 
devil's  own  house,  and  I  was  in  the  midst  directing  and 
overseeing  the  work. 

The  next  morning,  when  I  entered  my  studio,  I  felt 
revived  by  the  odour  of  the  pine  and  the  air  so  sensibly 
dry,  and  I  said,  "  If  this  work  does  no  good  to  the  cough, 
no  matter;  but  it  is  certain  that  I  find  myself  much 
better.  Besides,  I  like  the  colour  of  the  wood,  which  is 
gay.  I  like  the  smell  of  the  pine.  The  floor  is  better  to 
walk  upon,  and  it  is  drier  than  any  carpet.  The  air  circu- 
lates everywhere.  Viva  Mrs  Letitia  !  And  now,  how  to 
repay  her  for  this  wood  which  she  has  bought  for  me  ? 
Ah  !  this  is  not  so  easy.  To  talk  of  giving  back  the 
money  is  useless,  and  it  would  also  be  in  bad  taste, 

i 


130        BUSTS   OF   BEATRICE   AND   RAPHAEL. 

for  I  know  how  sensitive  this  lady  is ;  but  as  a  present  I 
will  not  receive  it."  As  it  happened,  I  had  a  small  bust 
of  Beatrice  in  marble,  which  she  had  always  admired. 
I  sent  this  to  her  house,  and  she  was  so  much  pleased 
that  she  never  ceased  to  speak  of  it  to  me.  And  the 
cough  ?  The  cough  diminished  day  by  day  as  if  by 
enchantment,  and  in  a  week  I  was  perfectly  cured. 

Whilst  I  am  speaking  of  favours  received  and  the 
manner  in  which  I  requited  them,  independent  of  the 
sentiment  of  gratitude  which  I  always  preserve  for  those 
who  have  rendered  me  a  service,  I  must  add  that  Mrs 
Macartney  was  pleased  with  the  little  bust  of  Beatrice ; 
so  also  was  Del  Benino  more  than  delighted  with  a  bust 
in  marble  of  the  boy  Raphael  which  I  had  copied  from 
a  painting  by  his  father,  Sanzio,  who  had  painted  the 
little  boy  when  six  years  of  age.  At  the  bottom  of  this 
portrait  was  written  in  red,  "  Raphael  Santii  d'  anni  sei, 
Santii  patre  dipinse." 

I  saw  this  work  of  mine  only  a  few  years  ago  in  the 
palace  belonging  to  the  heirs  of  Count  del  Benino. 

As  I  have  alluded  to  that  excellent  man — of  whom,  as 
you  see,  I  retain  such  an  affectionate  remembrance — I 
will  mention  that  I  asked  permission  of  his  heirs  by 
letter  to  be  permitted  at  my  own  expense  to  make  a  little 
memorial  of  him  in  marble,  and  to  place  it  in  the  chapel 
of  the  villa  where  Del  Benino  was  buried;  but  I  have 
never  received  any  answer. 

It  appears  that  works  either  for  love  or  money  are  not 
wanted.  Here  is  another  example  of  this.  It  must 
be  now  four  or  five  years  since  the  lamented  Professor 
G.  B.  Donati,  the  astronomer,  came  to  my  studio  with 
the  engineer  Del  Sarto,  to  tell  me  that  the  commune  of 
Florence  intended  to  place  a  sun-dial  on  one  side  of  the 
Ponte  alia  Carraja,  exactly  at  the  beginning  or  end  of  the 


FIGURE  FOR  A  SUN-DIAL.  131 

terrace,  where  there  is  at  present  a  kiosk ;  and  in  order  to 
have  an  elegant  and  artistic  thing,  it  came  into  the  head 
of  Donati,  or  some  one  of  the  Municipal  Council  of  Art, 
to  have  a  figure  in  bronze  holding  a  disc  on  which  should 
be  marked  the  meridian,  and  the  hand  of  this  figure 
should  be  held  gracefully  in  such  a  manner  that  its 
shadow  indicated  the  hour.  The  idea  pleased  me.  I 
made  a  sketch,  and  Del  Sarto  the  engineer  sent  me  the 
exact  dimensions  of  the  terrace.  He  liked  the  sketch, 
and  asked  me  what  the  cost  of  such  a  work  would  be, 
adding  that  unless  the  price  was  small  they  would  not  be 
able  to  order  it.  I  replied  that  nothing  could  cost  less 
than  this,  as  I  intended  to  present  the  model,  and  the 
Municipality  would  only  have  to  pay  for  the  casting  in 
bronze.  I  had  an  estimate  made  by  Professor  Clemente 
Papi,  who  asked  a  very  reasonable  sum — seven  or  eight 
thousand  lire,  I  believe ;  and  he  signed  a  paper  to  this 
effect,  which,  at  the  same  time  with  a  letter  I  had  written 
repeating  the  offer  of  my  work  gratis,  I  sent  in  an  enve- 
lope to  the  Municipality :  and  since  then  I  have  heard 
nothing.  Poor  Donati  is  dead;  the  sketch  and  the  model 
of  the  terrace  are  in  my  studio.  Count  Cambray  Digny 
was  then  syndic.  On  Ponte  alia  Carraja,  in  place  of  my 
statue,  there  is  a  kiosk  where  papers,  wax-matches,  &c., 
are  sold.  Even  this  is  not  the  last  of  the  statues  I 
have  offered  as  a  present  which  have  not  been  accepted, 
but  I  will  not  mention  them  here. 

Meanwhile,  as  I  was  finishing  the  model  of  Cain,  the 
Grand  Duchess  Maria  Antonietta  ordered  of  me  a  statue 
for  the  Uffizi.  I  selected  Giotto,  and  she  presented  this 
statue  to  the  Commission  for  erecting  statues  of  illustrious 
Tuscans,  which,  while  they  ornament  the  Loggia,  serve 
to  recall  past  glory  and  to  advise  one  to  study  more  and 
to  chatter  a  little  less.  In  roughing  out  the  statue  I 


132  ABEL   HAS   KILLED   CAIN. 

found  a  flaw  which  split  the  marble  in  two.  I  was  obliged 
to  throw  it  away  and  to  buy  another  block.  When  the 
good  Grand  Duchess  heard  of  this,  she  insisted  upon  re- 
paying me  the  price  of  the  new  marble.  I  note  this 
because  so  generous  an  act  is  uncommon. 

The  Cain  was  exhibited,  and,  as  was  natural,  was  less 
liked  than  the  Abel, — first  of  all,  because  the  enthusiasm 
raised  by  the  former  statue  had  too  sensibly  wounded  the 
self-love  of  many ;  and  then,  because  some  of  my  friends 
were  too  zealous,  and  their  excessive  praise  of  it  before 
it  was  on  exhibition  created  a  public  opinion  in  its 
favour  which  perhaps  was  not  justified  by  its  merits,  for 
the  difficulties  of  the  subject  were  very  great.  With  a 
phrase  more  witty  than  just,  they  said,  "This  time  Abel 
has  killed  Cain ; "  but  Bartolini,  who  generally  liked  wit, 
said  this  was  unjust  and  stupid,  and  declared  that  I 
had  overcome  a  thousand  times  greater  difficulties  than 
in  the  Abel.  But  that  witticism  was  prompted  by  sus- 
picion and  passion,  and  it  came  from  those  same  persons 
who  said  that  the  Abel  had  been  cast  from  life. 

Being  proposed  by  Bartolini,  I  was  elected  Professor 
of  the  Academy.  At  that  time,  being  invited  by  some 
of  my  townsmen,  I  went  to  Siena,  where  I  was  received 
with  warmth  and  fraternal  love.  I  was  a  guest  of  the 
Bianchis — of  that  charming  Signora  Laura  who  had  always 
been  so  good  to  my  poor  mother  and  my  family.  That 
dear  lady,  and  Carlo,  who  is  still  alive,  and  Luigi,  who, 
alas  !  was  too  soon  snatched  away  from  the  love  of  his  re- 
lations and  of  Siena,  rejoiced  in  seeing  me  made  the  sub- 
ject of  honour  and  ovation  by  all  the  citizens,  who  came 
to  the  palace  to  greet  me. 

I  remember  with  emotion  that  crowd  of  people,  and 
those  deputations  of  the  contrade  and  academies  of  the 
city,  sent  to  bring  me  salutations  and  presents.  These 


DISCOVERY  OF  A   RAPHAEL.  133 

were  the  first  flowers  that  I  gathered  and  smelt  in  the 
garden  of  my  youth ;  and  their  perfume  I  still  smell, 
and  it  is  now  perhaps  even  more  delightful,  for  it  is  asso- 
ciated in  my  memory  with  a  time  when  I  had  no  remorse. 

A  subscription  was  opened  on  the  spot,  promoted 
by  the  Cavaliere  Alessandro  Saracini,  the  Count  Scipione 
Borghese,  the  Count  Augusto  dei  Gori,  and  the  Marquis 
Alessandro  Bichi-Ruspoli.  The  statue  which  they  ordered 
was  of  the  Pontiff  Pius  II.,  Eneas  Silvius  Piccolomini. 

These  four  gentlemen  were  good  friends  of  mine ;  .but 
I  saw  Saracini  oftenest,  as  he  came  to  Florence  on  business 
affairs.  He  had  an  intelligent  love  of  Art,  which  he  prac- 
tised a  little  for  his  amusement,  and  he  was  President  of 
the  Institute  of  Fine  Arts  at  Siena.  One  day  he  came 
to  me  quite  breathless.  He  said  that  he  had  seen,  in 
a  shop  or  store-house  near  the  Via  Faenza,  a  wall  all 
painted  over,  and  that  it  was  concealed  by  carriages,  carts, 
wheels,  and  poles — in  fact,  it  was  at  a  carriage-maker's. 

"  But  what  painting  is  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know — I  cannot  say  what  it  is ;  but  it 
appears  to  me  very  beautiful,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  like 
Perugino,  or  certainly  of  his  school." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  I  said ;  "  here  in  the  neighbourhood 
is  some  one  who  understands  these  things  better  than  you 
or  I ; "  and  we  went  to  Count  Carlo  della  Porta,  and  to 
Ignazio  Zotti,  painters  who  lived  in  the  Niccolini  build- 
ing with  me.  They  lost  no  time,  and  we  all  four  went 
to  the  place.  Carlo  della  Porta  having  placed  a  ladder 
against  the  wall,  mounted,  and  stayed  there  only  a 
few  moments,  then  descended,  and  made  Zotti  go  up. 
They  then,  after  exchanging  some  words,  expressed  the 
opinion  that  it  was  by  Raphael. 

The  clearing  out  of  this  place,  and  the  arguments  for 
and  against  the  decision  on  the  part  of  the  Government, 


134  MY   FOLLY  AT   ROME. 

and  the  ultimate  destination  of  the  picture,  are  all  well 
known,  and  I  pass  to  other  things.  Having  finished  the 
Giotto,  I  went  to  Rome  to  make  studies  there  for  the 
statue  of  Pius  II.  I  stayed  there  a  month,  and  lived  at 
the  Hotel  Cesari,  Piazza,  di  Pietra.  It  was  the  month  of 
December  1844. 

I  must  confess,  whatever  it  costs  me,  that  the  Eternal 
City  did  not  make  the  most  favourable  impression  upon 
me;  and  except  the  ruins  of  ancient  Rome,  the  Colos- 
seum, the  Pantheon,  the  Forum,  with  its  triumphal  arches 
and  colonnades,  all  the  rest  excited  in  me  no  enthusiasm. 
But  I  must  admit  I  had  been  spoiled  by  too  much  praise ; 
and  I  was  so  vain,  that  while  I  accepted  everything  with 
apparent  modesty,  I  was  so  puffed  up  internally  with 
pride  that  at  times  it  would  show  itself  in  spite  of  me. 
I  remember  once  at  the  house  of  the  Signora  Clementina 
Carnevali,  where  every  evening  were  to  be  seen  all  the 
most  distinguished  persons  in  Rome,  either  in  letters 
or  art,  strangers  as  well  as  Italians, — I  remember,  I  say, 
to  have  replied  in  a  most  impertinent  manner  to  some 
one  who  asked  me  how  I  liked  the  monuments  and  the 
art  of  Rome,  and  what  above  all  had  most  pleased  me. 
I  replied — and  I  blush  to  repeat  it — "  What  I  like  best  is 
the  stewed  broccoli  " — a  reply  as  outrageously  stupid  as 
insolent,  and  I  wonder  that  those  who  heard  it  could 
have  taken  it  in  good  part.  For  myself,  as  I  feel 
to-day,  if  a  young  artist  had  replied  to  me  in  such  a 
manner,  he  would  have  got  little  good  out  of  it,  and  so 
much  the  better  for  him  ! 

But  I  had  better  luck ;  my  foolish  reply  was  repeated  by 
every  one,  and  so  clouded  by  vanity  and  pride  were  my 
eyes,  that  I  fancied  it  excited  mirth  and  approbation, 
while  it  really  deserved  only  compassion. 

O  Minardi  !   O  Tenerani !  O  Massimo  d'Azeglio  !  you 


I  LOSE  MY  WAY.  135 

who  were  present,  but  now  dead,  cannot  see  the  amende 
which  I  make.  However,  you  knew  me  later,  and  were 
aware  of  my  repentance.  But  as  for  you,  excellent  Cle- 
mentina— who  are  alive,  and  will  read,  I  hope,  these 
pages — if  then  you  smiled  with  compassion,  because  you 
are  so  good  you  will  to-day  smile  with  approbation  and 
praise. 

And  now,  gentle  reader,  would  you  like  to  see  how 
headstrong  and  proud  I  had  become  ?  One  evening — 
Christmas  Eve — I  proposed  to  go  to  the  midnight  Mass 
at  St  Peter's.  I  set  out  at  ten  o'clock  from  the  Via 
Condotti,  where  I  had  passed  the  evening  with  some  of 
my  English  friends  whom  I  had  known  in  Florence. 

Mrs  ,  to  whom  I  had  disclosed  my  purpose,  said, 

"  Take  care  !  you  are  not  much  acquainted  with  Roman 
streets;  you  had  better  take  a  carriage  to  go  there. 
If  you  do  not,  you  may  easily  lose  your  way  in  the  streets 
of  Rome.  They  are  very  confusing  by  day;  imagine 
what  they  are  at  night ! "  If  this  lady  had  not  given 
me  such  a  warning,  it  is  probable  that  I  should  have 
done  as  she  suggested ;  but  because  she  had  given  it  I 
despised  it,  and  determined  to  go  by  myself  to  St  Peter's. 

I  walked  until  two  o'clock  without  even  being  able 
to  find  the  bridge  of  St  Angelo.  I  got  bewildered  in  all 
those  streets  and  lanes  which  are  comprised  between  San 
Luigi  dei  Francesi,  Piazza  Navona,  San  Andrea  della 
Valle,  San  Carlo  a  Carinari,  Teatro  Argentina,  II  Gesu, 
and  San  Ignazio  e  la  Minerva ;  and  after  having  walked 
for  two  hours,  I  found  myself  at  the  point  I  had  started 
from.  Then,  more  obstinate  than  ever,  though  over- 
come by  weariness  and  mortified  pride,  I  persisted  in 
going  up  and  down  all  sorts  of  streets  unknown  to  me, 
and  often  very  filthy,  and  again  coming  across  the  same 
piazze,  the  same  fountains,  until  at  last  I  found  myself 


136  MY   PRIDE   PUNISHED. 

at  the  foot  of  the  Campidoglio  steps.  The  people  whom 
I  met  in  the  streets  here  and  there  returning  from  the 
Mass  could  have  shown  me  the  way,  not  to  go  to  St 
Peter's,  but  how  to  return  to  my  hotel,  had  I  been  less 
headstrong,  and  had  I  inquired  for  the  Piazza,  Colonna 
or  Piazza,  di  Pietra,  where  I  lodged.  But  no ;  it  appeared 
to  me  to  be  a  humiliation.  I  wished  to  find  the  hotel  by 
myself;  and  I  did  find  it  finally,  but  in  what  a  condition 
I  leave  those  to  judge  who  know  Rome,  and  the  sharp 
pavements  of  its  streets,  but,  above  all,  tired  out,  and 
more  than  this,  humiliated  and  without  supper.  It  was 
two  o'clock.  The  Hotel  Cesari  was  shut,  and  I  had 
to  wait  until  they  opened  it  for  me.  I  asked  for 
supper;  they  replied  that  they  had  nothing,  and  that 
if  they  had  it  they  could  not  give  me  anything,  because 
they  were  prohibited  by  law  from  supplying  any  food 
on  that  night.  I  should  have  been  glad  of  any  little 
thing,  but  could  get  nothing.  My  pride  was  singu- 
larly punished  that  night,  and  I  went  to  bed  hungry. 
At  first  I  strove  in  vain  to  go  to  sleep,  then  I  dreamt 
all  night  of  eating,  and  awoke  in  the  morning  rather 
late.  I  could  not  realise  that  I  could  get  up  and  have 
a  good  breakfast.  I  went  over  again  in  thought  the 
weariness  of  the  night,  the  hunger,  the  annoyance,  and  I 
felt  weak.  But  finally  I  said  to  myself,  I  will  eat  now, 
and  another  time  I  shall  be  wiser.  Now  to  breakfast ! 
After  going  out  of  the  hotel,  I  turned  to  the  right  to  go 
into  the  Osteria  dell'  Archetto.  It  was  closed  ;  the  caffe 
next  door  was  closed.  I  ran  into  the  Piazza  Colonna, 
and  found  all  shut  up — caffh,  pastry-cooks,  everything 
closed.  I  asked,  angrily  and  with  a  bewilderment  easy 
to  comprehend,  what  was  the  reason  of  this,  and  was 
told  that  during  the  time  of  the  religious  ceremonies 
no  one  could  sell  anything  to  eat.  I  was  stupefied,  and 


NOTHING  TO  EAT.  137 

walked  along  slowly,  not  knowing  where  to  go.  Until 
after  twelve  o'clock  neither  the  trattorie  nor  the  caffes 
would  be  opened.  I  would  not  go  back  to  the  hotel, 
as  I  feared  a  refusal  such  as  I  had  the  night  before.  I 
began  to  feel  very  faint ;  for  nearly  twenty  hours  I  had 
eaten  nothing.  I  saw  the  people  gaily  walking  about, 
smiling,  smoking,  and  looking  well-fed  and  of  good  col- 
our, and  I  felt  angry  and  envious.  They  had  eaten  lei- 
surely and  at  home,  or  in  the  caffl  or  trattoria  before  ten 
o'clock,  the  hour  prescribed.  I  had  slept  until  that  hour, 
and  dreamt  of  eating,  and  when  I  went  out  intending  to 
get  something  to  eat,  it  was  too  late.  Fortunately,  one  of 
my  friends,  the  engraver  Travalloni,  saw  me,  and  coming 
to  meet  me,  said,  "What  is  the  matter?  Why  do  you 
look  so  scared  ?  "  I  told  him  my  story,  and  he  laughed, 
and  taking  me  by  the  arm,  said — "  Come  with  me."  After 
a  few  turns  he  entered  a  doorway  half  closed,  and  pushed 
me  up  a  dark  staircase,  where  there  were  the  savoury 
odours  of  cooking,  all  the  more  grateful  to  me  because 
my  appetite  was  so  great  The  staircase  opened  upon  an 
ante-room,  also  dark.  We  closed  the  door  and  knocked 
at  a  smaller  door.  It  was  opened,  and  I  found  myself  in 
a  spacious  hall,  well  ventilated  and  full  of  people,  who 
were  sitting  eating  and  drinking  cheerfully  at  table. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  I  asked.  "  Can  I  get  anything  to  eat 
here?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  give  your  orders." 

The  waiter,  with  a  napkin  over  his  shoulder,  was 
standing  before  us.  I  was  like  a  full  flask  which,  be- 
ing upturned,  can  with  difficulty  empty  itself.  There 
was  such  a  variety  of  odours  in  the  room,  and  such  a 
quantity  of  things  to  eat,  that  I  could  not  get  out  a 
word;  and  my  friend,  seeing  my  embarrassment,  has- 
tened to  say  to  me — 


138  A   BREAKFAST. 

"  Will  you  have  some  soup  and  a  cutlet?" 

"  Yes ;  two,"  I  replied. 

"Will  you  have  Orvieto  or  good  Roman  wine?" 

"  Do  me  the  favour  to  bring  anything  you  please,  so 
long  as  you  bring  me  something  to  eat  and  drink.  I 
can't  stop  to  choose." 

And  the  good  Travalloni,  turning  to  the  servant,  said — 

"Bring  at  once  a  flask  of  Orvieto,  such  as  I  drink — 
you  understand? — some  bread,  some  soup,  a  cutlet, 
cheese,  and  fruit." 

That  day  Travalloni  appeared  to  me  to  be  a  man  of 
genius. 


139 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

LITERATI  AT  MY  STUDIO,  AND  THEIR  INFLUENCE  ON  MY  WORK — CALAMATTA's 
OPINION  OF  TENERANI,  OF  BARTOLINI,  AND  OF  MYSELF — HIS  DEFENCE  OF 
MY  ABEL  IN  PARIS — PIUS  II. — ACADEMICIANS  AND  "  NATURALISTI  " — LUIGI 
VENTURI — PRINCE  ANATOLIA  DEMIDOFF  AND  THE  PRINCESS  MATILDE — 
THE  STATUETTE  IN  CLAY  OF  THE  PRINCESS  MATILDE  IS  DESTROYED — OUR 
MINISTER  NIGRA  PRESENTS  ME  TO  THE  EMPEROR  NAPOLEON  III. — BEAUTY 
DOES  NOT  EXIST  OUTSIDE  OF  NATURE — PRAISE  PUTS  ONE  TO  SLEEP— THE 
INCOHERENCE  OF  BARTOLINI. 

Y  studio,  as  I  think  I  have  already  said,  was 
the  resort  of  many  of  the  literary  men  of  the 
time — Giusti,  Thouar,  Montazio,  La  Farina, 
F.  S.  Orlandini,  Enrico  Mayer,  Girolamo 
Gargiolli,  Giovanni  Chiarini,  Filippo  Moise,  and  some- 
times, but  rarely,  G.  B.  Niccolini,  Atto  Vannucci,  and 
Giuseppe  Arcangeli.  These  distinguished  men,  all  talk- 
ing with  me,  and  bringing  forward  their  theories  of  Art, 
somewhat  confused  me  in  my  ideas.  I  said,  at  the  very 
beginning  of  these  memoirs — and  the  reader,  I  hope, 
keeps  it  in  mind — that  I  had  received  no  education,  and 
my  judgment  was  not  trained  to  discern  and  distinguish 
the  laws  of  the  beautiful,  which,  the  more  deeply  one 
studies  them,  the  more  they  scatter,  and  seem,  as  it 
were,  to  fly  from  us.  I  was  attracted  to  Art  by  a  purely 
natural  sentiment,  which  I  sought  to  express  by  a  simple 
imitation  of  nature ;  and  so  far,  I  think  I  was  right,  for 
whatever  other  path  we  may  take,  supported  however  it 


140  A   PASSAGE   IN   DANTE. 

may  be  by  philosophic  and  aesthetic  reasons,  it  will  prove 
utterly  fallacious  unless  it  lead  to  this  end,  of  imitating 
the  beautiful  in  nature,  and  will  surely  lead  astray  the 
young  artist,  even  though  he  has  a  good  natural  talent 
and  a  lively  fancy. 

Yes,  sir ;  my  poor  head  was  perplexed,  and  I  began  to 
distrust  nature,  with  its  imperfections  and  its  vulgarity. 
The  warm  and  imaginative  utterances  of  La  Farina  made 
all  the  words  of  Niccolini  seem  colourless  to  me,  for 
though  given  with  antique  beauty,  they  came  from  him 
with  difficulty.  The  pure  and  touching  morality  of 
Thouar  conflicted  with  the  humoristic  and  cynical  free- 
dom of  Montazio.  Giusti,  who  might  have  set  me  right 
in  my  opinions,  kept  at  a  distance  without  giving  a 
reason  why;  and  in  this  he  was  wrong,  for  I  should 
have  given  heed  to  him.  But  he  contented  himself 
with  writing  to  the  advocate  Galeotti,  telling  him  that 
I  was  surrounded  by  a  number  of  fops  who  spoiled  me, 
and  that  if  I  did  not  shut  myself  up  in  my  studio,  as 
I  did  when  I  made  the  Abel,  I  should  not  succeed  in 
making  anything  good.  This  outburst  of  Giusti's  I  only 
knew  many  years  afterwards,  on  the  publication  of  his 
letters. 

I  remember  one  day,  when  Giusti  was  with  me,  I 
recited  from  memory  the  canto  in  the  '  Inferno '  relating 
to  Francesca,  but  when  I  came  to  this  passage — 

"  Quali  colombe  dal  desio  chiamate 
Con  1'  ali  aperte  e  ferme,  al  dolce  nido 
Volan  per  1'  acre  dal  voler  portate  ;  " 

he  interrupted  me,  saying,  "  You  recite  well  and  intelli- 
gently the  verses  of  the  divine  poet ;  but  you,  too,  fall" 
into  the  error  into  which  so  many  have  fallen — copyists, 
printers,  and  commentators — that  of  placing  the  semi- 
colon at  the  end  of  the  line,  after   the  word  portale, 


STATUE   OF   GIOTTO.  14! 

instead  of  putting  it  in  the  middle  of  the  line,  after  the 
word  aere.  This  punctuation  makes  Dante  guilty  of  a 
blunder,  he  attributing  to  the  doves,  besides  desire, 
which  is  most  proper,  also  will,  which  belongs  properly 
to  man.  Try  and  place  the  comma  and  the  pause 
after  the  word  aere,  and  you  will  see  what  a  stupend- 
ous philosophical  value  it  gives  to  the  verses.  Listen ;  I 
will  repeat  them  to  you  : — 

'  Quali  colombe  dal  desio  chiamate 
Con  1'  all  aperte  e  ferme,  al  dolce  nido 
Volan  per  1'  aere  ;  dal  voler  portate 
Cotali  uscir  dalla  schiera,  ov'  e  Dido,'  "  &c. 

This  correction,  so  clear,  so  easy,  so  just,  satisfied  me 
immediately,  and  from  that  day  I  have  always  recited 
these  lines  in  this  way.  The  unintelligent  did  not  per- 
ceive the  change  of  sense,  but  those  who  were  more 
attentive  and  refined  gave  me  praise  for  it;  but  I  re- 
jected it  at  once  as  belonging  to  me,  saying  that  the 
correction  was  due  to  Giuseppe  Giusti.1 

In  making  my  Giotto,  I  followed  my  inspiration  by 
drawing  upon  nature  for  that  type  of  rude  good-nature 
which  constituted  the  outward  character  of  my  statue ; 
and  although  some  of  my  literary  friends,  who  were  more 

1  The  distinguished  Signer  Carlo  Ara  of  Palermo  informs  me  that 
this  new  punctuation  did  not  originate  with  Giusti,  but  with  Muzzi. 
And,  in  truth,  Giusti  did  not  tell  me  that  it  was  his,  but  simply 
recommended  me  to  try  to  say  it  and  understand  it  in  that  sense ; 
and  I,  supposing  the  correction  to  be  his,  recited  and  wrote  it  so. 
The  distinguished  Carlo  Ara  pointed  out  to  me  the  way  in  which  I 
could  verify  his  assertion  ;  and  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  correct  an 
error  (involuntary  on  my  part),  and  to  take  this  occasion  to  thank 
the  distinguished  Signer  Carlo  Ara. 

The  distinguished  Signer  Angelo  Cavalieri  of  Trieste  writes  to 
me  that  this  new  punctuation  of  this  Dantesque  simile  does  not  con- 
vince him,  and  he  gives  his  reasons ;  but  upon  this  I  am  not  com- 
petent to  enter  into  a  discussion. 


142  CALAMATTA'S  VISIT. 

attached  to  the  antique  and  the  so-called  bello  ideale, 
blamed  me,  and  some  artists  of  distinction  opposed  me 
openly,  I  firmly  adhered  to  the  sound  principle  of 
imitating  nature.  The  Giotto  was  finished  without  a 
moment's  indecision,  although,  as  I  have  said,  I  had 
been  revolving  over  and  over  again  in  my  mind  the 
conception  of  a  beauty  ideal  and  beyond  nature,  but 
which,  without  great  judgment,  becomes  conventional. 

About  this  time  a  controversy  occurred  between  me 
and  a  great  artist  which  it  may  be  well  to  speak  of  here, 
because,  although  it  will  show  how  tenacious  I  was  of 
this  principle  of  imitating  nature,  yet  it  will  also  show 
how  much  I  was  affected  by  it,  and  how  the  acerbity 
of  this  artist  produced  a  change  in  me,  which  certainly 
he  did  not  desire.  His  fear  was  lest  I  should  fall 
into  a  servile  copying  of  life;  and  had  his  language 
been  more  measured,  we  should  easily  have  understood 
each  other.  But  he  took  a  different  course,  and  I  now 
proceed  to  give  the  history  of  this  controversy. 

I  had  a  short  time  previously  completed  my  model 
of  Giotto,  and,  as  I  have  said,  some  among  the  artists 
most  tenacious  of  the  classic  rules  attacked  me  sharply, 
but  Bartolini  defended  me.  I  was  therefore  some- 
what irritated  when  Calamatta,  accompanied  by  Signer 
Floridi,  the  draughtsman,  came  to  my  studio.  He 
came  in  with  a  magisterial  and  rather  arrogant  air. 
I  .received  him  politely  and  with  respectful  words, 
such  as  became  me  towards  the  author  of  the  famous 
mask  of  Napoleon  I.  He  looked  at  "  Abel"  and  "  Cain  " 
without  opening  his  mouth,  and  as  if  he  found  in  them 
nothing  either  to  praise  or  to  blame ;  but  when  he 
came  to  the  "  Giotto,"  he  said,  "  I  have  heard  a  good 
deal  of  talk  about  you,  in  which  you  have  been  lauded 
to  the  skies,  and  I  wished  to  come  and  ascertain  with 


CALAMATTA'S  ATTACK.  143 

my  own  eyes  whether  you  were  entitled  to  your  fame ; 
and  I  confess  to  you,  though  what  I  shall  say  may 
seem  bitter  to  you,  that  in  the  presence  of  your  works 
your  fame  disappears  ;  and  if  it  be  permitted  to  me  to 
make  a  comparison,  I  should  say  that  you  produce  the 
same  effect  upon  me  as  if  I  saw  a  balloon  inflated  with 
gas  rising  majestically  in  the  air,  and  which,  after  arriv- 
ing at  a  certain  height,  bursts,  and  aftenvards  leaves  no- 
thing to  be  seen."  I  answered  that  such  things  might 
be  thought,  and  even  spoken,  but  a  little  more  graci- 
ously, and  I  said  no  more.  Calamatta  rejoined,  with 
some  irritation,  that  he  was  a  person  who  could  not 
endure  the  ugly — that  it  was  his  instinct  to  denounce 
it  with  the  same  vivacity  and  earnestness  that  one 
does  when  there  is  a  cry  of  fire,  and  some  place  is  in 
flames.  I  began  then  to  lose  my  patience  :  still  I  only 
contented  myself  with  asking  whether  he  was  quite  sure 
that  there  was  a  conflagration,  and  whether  he  was  abso- 
lutely called  upon  to  extinguish  it ;  and  finally,  added 
that  Bartolini,  Tenerani,  and  others  had  seen  my  works, 
and  had  spoken  of  them  in  very  different  terms.  This 
only  more  irritated  poor  Calamatta,  and  he  said  that 
he  had  just  come  from  Paris,  and  had  visited  Tenerani 
at  Rome,  and  his  insipid  and  hard  mysticism  had  seemed 
pitiable  to  him;  and  that,  on  coming  to  Florence,  he  had 
found  in  Bartolini  the  most  filthy  and  offensive  realism, 
carried  to  the  point  of  proclaiming  the  beauty  of  de- 
formity, and  that  in  response  to  his  just  criticisms  upon 
the  injury  that  he  was  thus  doing?  to  the  true  principles 
of  Art,  Bartolini  had  advised  him  to  come  to  my  studio 
and  see  the  application  of  those  principles  which  he 
censured, — and  now,  after  examining  my  works,  he  per- 
ceived that  I  was  sliding  down  a  steep  declivity,  which 
would  soon  precipitate  me  into  naturalism  and  deformity, 


144        H1S   REPORT  AND   DEFENCE  OF   ME. 

and  though  he  recognised  in  me  a  certain  talent,  he 
warned  me  to  avoid  that  false  school  and  those  insidious 
precepts,  and  more  than  all,  to  be  on  my  guard  against 
treacherous  and  lying  praises.  All  this  was  very  fine,  if  it 
were  granted  that  I  was  on  a  false  road.  But  as  I  did 
not  think  so  then,  and  still  less  now, — and  besides,  as 
I  was  young,  flattered,  and  praised,  and  those  words 
of  his,  "  that  I  should  be  on  my  guard  against  insidi- 
ous precepts  and  treacherous  praises,"  seemed  to  me  a 
very  unjust  accusation  against  Bartolini, — I  indicated  to 
him  that  I  should  be  glad  if  he  would  leave  me  in  peace, 
and  in  fact,  as  he  had  declared  my  works  to  be  ugly,  and 
of  an  ugliness  that  he  abhorred,  he  was  not  in  his  proper 
place  here ;  and  as  to  his  counsel,  not  having  asked  for 
it,  I  should  not  take  the  trouble  to  consider  it.  Poor 
Calamatta  was  angry  at  this,  and  taking  by  the  hand 
Floridi,  who  during  the  whole  squabble  was  on  thorns, 
he  said,  "Let  us  go  away;  let  us  go  away;  let  us  go 
away  " — and  away  he  went. 

Poor  Calamatta,  my  illustrious  friend.  If  any  one  had 
said  on  that  day,  when  we  separated  with  such  un- 
pleasant feelings,  and  on  my  part  with  so  little  kind- 
ness, "  The  time  will  come,  and  soon,  when  he  will  be 
your  most  open  defender  and  friend,"  I  would  not  have 
believed  him,  and  I  should  not  have  wished  to  believe 
him, — and  yet  it  so  turned  out.  In  1855,  eleven  years 
after  our  disagreement,  he  was  in  Paris,  and  on  the  Jury 
of  the  Fine  Arts  at  the  World's  Exhibition.  I  had  sent 
a  model  of  the  "Abel"  in  plaster,  and  among  the  jury 
the  doubt  arose  whether  it  was  not  cast  from  life.  As  in 
Florence  that  opinion  was  originated  out  of  evil-minded- 
ness,  so  it  was  repeated  in  Paris  from  speciousness,  and 
heedlessness  of  judgment.  Calamatta,  whom  I  had  not 
seen  since  that  'famous  day,  although  he  frequently  re- 


CALAMATTA'S  SPEECH.  145 

turned  to  Florence,  undertook  to  defend  my  work  with 
sound  reasoning  and  friendly  warmth,  but  he  did  not 
succeed  in  convincing  the  entire  body  of  the  jury  of  their 
error  of  judgment ;  and  in  assigning  the  prizes,  out  of 
mere  regard  for  Calamatta  they  gave  to  "  Abel "  one  of 
the  last.  Calamatta  then  rose  and  said,  "  Gentlemen, 
our  judgment  of  this  work  must  not  be  given  in  this  way. 
I  have  endeavoured  to  show  you  by  artistic  reasoning 
that  this  statue  is  really  modelled  in  clay,  in  imitation 
of  beautiful  nature.  I  have  pointed  out  that  certain  im- 
perfections which  are  always  found  in  nature  have  been 
wisely  avoided  by  the  artist.  I  have  shown  you  clear 
proofs  of  modelling  in  the  mode  of  working  the  clay.  I 
thought  that  I  had  convinced  you  that  so  noble  and 
refined  a  whole  is  rather  the  creation  of  the  mind, 
through  a  studious  and  loving  imitation  of  parts,  than  a 
mechanical  reproduction  by  casting ;  and  finally,  I  have 
demonstrated,  and  you  have  conceded  to  me,  that  the 
head  is  of  equal  merit  with  all  the  rest  of  the  body,  and 
this  could  not  have  been  cast  from  life.  From  these 
considerations,  which  arise  from  the  examination  of  the 
work  itself,  and  without  regard  to  the  artist,  whom  I 
have  only  once  met  in  Florence,  and  who  is,  I  believe, 
inimical  to  me,  I  am  of  opinion  that  your  judgment  of 
this  work  should  be  reconsidered,  and  if  it  seems  to  you 
to  be  proved  that  this  statue  is  a  cast  from  nature  and 
not  modelled,  and  in  consequence  a  falsification  and 
not  a  work  of  art,  you  ought  not  to  adjudge  to  it  even 
the  lowest  prize,  b\it  to  exclude  it  entirely  from  the 
Exhibition,  and  in  so  doing  you  should  give  your  reasons 
for  such  a  decision  in  writing,  and  under  your  signatures, 
— and  in  such  case  I  shall  retire  from  the  Jury  of  Fine 
Arts,  and  shall  publish  in  the  journals  of  Paris  my  rea- 
sons for  withdrawing."  After  this  discourse  there  arose 

K 


146  GOLDEN   MEDAL — PIUS   II. 

an  exceedingly  animated  discussion,  and  the  President 
decided  that  a  new  examination  of  the  model  should  be 
made ;  and  as  many  were  convinced  by  the  good  reasons 
put  forward  by  Calamatta,  the  second  examination  of 
"  Abel  "  resulted  in  a  complete  success,  and  at  the  next 
voting  the  golden  medal  of  the  First  Class  was  awarded 
to  me.  The  news  of  this,  derived  directly  from  Cala- 
matta himself,  was  sent  to  me  at  once  by  Rossini,  who 
had  conceived  a  strong  affection  for  me,  and  honoured 
me  with  his  friendship. 

I  now  return  to  the  point  where  I  left  off.  After 
Giotto  I  began  Pius  II. ;  and  filled  as  my  head  was  by 
the  criticism  of  the  academicians,  the  eulogies  of  the 
naturalisti^  the  contempt  of  some  to  whom  the  subject 
was  displeasing,  and  more  than  all  by  the  exceptional 
character  of  the  studies  I  had  made  for  this  work,  I 
began  it  unwillingly,  and  strove  (strangely  enough)  to 
conciliate  the  academicians,  copying  from  the  life  with 
timidity,  where  boldness  and  fidelity  were  required — 
boldness,  that  is  to  say,  in  accepting  frankly  the  stiff 
paper-like  folds  of  the  pontifical  mantle,  and  fidelity  in 
copying  them.  In  consequence  I  made  a  washed-out 
work,  and  I  pleased  neither  one  party  nor  the  other,  and 
much  less  myself.  I  make  this  statement  so  that  young 
men  may  be  on  their  guard  against  allowing  themselves 
to  stray  from  the  true  path,  which  is  this — viz.,  to  em- 
body the  subject  in  its  appropriate  form  by  the  imitation 
of  living  nature,  to  strive  for  truth  of  character  in  the 
general  action  and  in  all  the  particulars,  and  in  proportion 
as  the  subject  is  historical  and  natural,  as  in  portraiture, 
to  adhere  all  the  more  closely  to  nature.  In  such  a  case 
as  this  statue  of  Pius  II. ,  it  is  necessary  to  be  naturalistic 
— avoiding,  of  course,  all  minutiae  which  add  nothing  to 
the  beauty  of  general  effect  and  the  truth  of  character. 


MY   FRIENDSHIP  WITH   VENTURI.  147 

Has  it  ever  happened  to  you,  courteous  reader,  to  meet 
a  person  with  whom  your  personal  relations  brought  you 
often  in  contact,  and  who,  reserved  and  serious  by  nature 
as  well  as  on  account  of  his  social  position,  differed  from 
you,  who  are  perhaps  too  vivacious  and  open ;  and  on 
the  one  side  you  feared  to  displease  him  by  your  vivac- 
ity, and  on  the  other  you  were  annoyed  by  his  reserve  ? 
In  such  a  case,  if  certain  allowance  be  made  on  both 
sides — as  far  as  you  are  concerned  by  listening  with  at- 
tentive deference  to  his  wise  counsels,  austere  maxims, 
and  high  principles,  and  on  his  part  by  an  indulgent  con- 
sideration for  your  free  and  vivacious  nature — has  it  not 
happened  to  you  that  insensibly  and  firmly  a  harmony  of 
relation  has  established  itself  which  it  is  difficult  to  break, 
— and  this  for  the  undeniable,  however  recondite  reason, 
that  there  is  a  sympathy  between  entirely  different  natures 
which  causes  each  to  compensate  for  the  other  ? 

In  like  manner  as  this  may  have  happened  to  you, 
so  it  happened  to  me  with  Luigi  Venturi,  then  private 
secretary  of  his  Royal  and  Imperial  Highness  the  Grand 
Duke  Leopold  II.  He  often  came  to  my  studio  by 
order  of  the  Grand  Duke,  for  whom  I  was  making  a 
statuette  of  Dante  and  another  of  Beatrice.  He  took  a 
liking  to  me,  which  I  have  returned  sincerely,  even  till 
to-day ;  and  he  is  the  oldest  and  most  affectionate  of  my 
friends.  After  the  revolution  of  '59,  with  the  loss  of  his 
high  position  he  lost  also  a  great  portion  of  such  friends 
as  come  with  Fortune  and  flee  with  her.  But  neither 
the  ingratitude  of  some  nor  the  fickleness  of  others  ever 
drew  from  him  a  lament.  He  was  contented  with  those 
who  remained,  and  I  was  one  of  them.  Our  long  and 
intimate  connection  has  at  last  harmonised  our  charac- 
ters,— he  making  me  more  temperate,  and  I  (as  I  dare  to 
hope)  making  him  more  open  and  vivacious.  His  friend- 


148  PRINCE  ANATOLIO   DEMIDOFF. 

ship,  as  well  as  that  of  others  of  whom  I  shall  speak  in 
the  proper  place,  has  strengthened  my  judgment  and 
tempered  my  fancies.  Trustworthy,  honest,  and  sincere 
friends  are  a  great  fortune — and  I  have  had  such,  and 
have  kept  them.  To  distinguish  the  good  from  the  bad 
requires  study,  and  we  must  learn  how  to  get  rid  of 
chatterers  and  adulators. 

And  this  warning  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  give  to  young 
artists,  for  whom  these  memoirs  are  specially  written. 
I  have  already  said,  in  speaking  of  models,  "  Girls  un- 
accompanied as  models,  no ! "  now  I  add,  "  Nor  even 
married  women  without  the  express  consent  of  their  hus- 
bands." Here  is  a  little  incident  which  may  serve  as  a 
lesson. 

Prince  Anatolio  Demidoff  often  came  to  my  studio. 
He  gave  vent  to  his  annoyance  at  the  delays  and  the 
infinite  difficulties  interposed  by  Bartolini  in  completing 
the  groups  and  statues  of  the  monument  ordered  by  him 
in  honour  of  the  memory  of  his  dead  father.  To  listen 
to  the  Prince,  he  seemed  to  have  a  thousand  good 
reasons ;  but  the  consequences  he  drew  from  them,  and 
the  bold,  unjust  measures  which  he  proposed,  I  could  not 
but  think  blameworthy,  and  I  strove  in  every  way  to 
moderate  him,  and  to  dissuade  him  from  carrying  out  his 
intentions.  My  frank  and  loyal  defence  of  Bartolini,  so 
far  from  exasperating  him,  as  often  happened  when  he 
was  opposed,  made  him  more  kindly  towards  me,  and  he 
proposed  to  order  of  me  a  great  work  worthy,  as  he  was 
pleased  to  say,  of  my  genius.  He  had  a  thousand  pro- 
jects, and  among  them  he  spoke  to  me  of  a  colossal 
statue  of  Napoleon  I.  He  was  at  that  time  tenderly  in- 
clined toward  the  Bonaparte  family.  His  pride  in  being 
connected  with  it,  as  well  as  the  charms  of  the  beauti- 
ful Princess,  his  wife,  were  in  great  measure  the  cause  of 


STATUETTE  OF  PRINCESS  DEMIDOFF.       149 

this  enthusiasm.  He  treated  me  with  great  kindness, 
invited  me  often  to  dinner  and  to  his  evening  recep- 
tions, and  talked  very  freely  with  me  in  regard  to  works 
that  he  wished  me  to  make  for  him. 

About  this  time  the  Princess  came  one  day  to  my 
studio,  and  told  me  that  she  wished  me  to  make  her 
portrait — not  merely  a  bust,  but  the  whole  figure,  almost 
half  the  size  of  life.  I  answered  that  I  should  like  much 
to  make  it,  for  I  was  persuaded  that  it  would  give  the 
Prince  pleasure ;  but  she  hastened  to  say  that  the 
Prince  must  know  nothing  about  it.  I  had  not  sufficient 
presence  of  mind  to  reply  that  without  his  consent  I 
could  not  undertake  it — and  I  was  wrong,  I  confess :  but 
the  Princess  stood  before  me  blandly  insisting ;  and  over- 
come by  the  beauty  of  the  model,  I  agreed  to  make  it 
and  keep  it  a  secret  from  the  Prince.  She  gave  me  a 
number  of  sittings,  and  I  was  going  on  satisfactorily  with 
the  statuette,  and  had  already  a  good  likeness,  when  un- 
expectedly the  Prince  came  one  day  to  see  me,  and  after 
exchanging  a  few  words  and  taking  a  turn  through  the 
room,  he  stopped  before  the  modelling-stand,  on  which 
was  the  clay  of  the  statuette  covered  with  wet  cloths, 
and  said — 

"  And  what  have  you  got  here  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  your  Excellency — nothing." 

"  Let  me  see  what  there  is  under  here." 

"  But  there  is  nothing ;  it  is  only  a  mass  of  infirm  clay, 
and  is  not  in  a  state  to  show." 

"  Let  us  see,  my  friend, — I  am  extremely  curious." 
And  so  saying  he  lifted  up  the  cloths,  looked  at  it,  and 
then  said  seriously,  "  Very  good — very  like ; "  and  then 
in  a  sharp  tone  added,  "  And  who  has  ordered  this  ?  " 

"  Listen,  Signer  Principe.  The  Princess  has  ordered 
this  statuette  of  me,  for  I  see  that  you  recognise  it  as 


PRINCE  DEMIDOFF'S  DISPLEASURE. 

her  portrait — and  she  ordered  me  to  show  it  to  no  one, 
not  even  to  you,  Signor  Principe;  for  I  believe  she 
wished  to  give  you  a  surprise,  and  to  present  it  to  you 
when  it  should  be  finished  in  marble." 

He  answered,  "  The  Princess  has  done  wrong  in 
ordering  her  portrait  without  my  consent,  and  you  have 
done  wrong  in  complying  with  her  request.  I  do  not 
like  these  surprises,  and  when  the  Princess  returns  for 
a  sitting  you  must  request  her  to  go  about  her  business ; 
and  you  may  tell  her  that  you  do  this  by  my  order. 
And  besides — and  this  I  say  particularly  to  you — destroy 
this  work,  and  think  no  more  about  it." 

I  felt  that  the  Prince  was  right,  but  to  throw  down 
this  work  was  a  bitter  pain  to  me ;  and  besides,  I  was 
unwilling  to  displease  the  Princess,  who  so  earnestly 
desired  to  have  this  statuette,  and  who  had  already 
expressed  her  satisfaction  with  it.  My  face  must  have 
been  very  expressive  at  that  moment,  for  the  Prince, 
taking  my  hands  in  his,  said — 

"  My  dear  Dupre,  I  understand  your  embarrassment 
and  annoyance,  but  it  is  necessary  that  this  should  be 
done.  I  do  not  like,  and  I  will  not  have  this  sort  of 
thing,  and  I  like  still  less  this  way  of  doing  it.  Do  you 
understand  ?  A  portrait  of  the  Princess,  or  even  a  statue 
of  her,  would  be  a  charming  possession,  and  I  should 
particularly  like  one  by  you.  I  have  already  a  beautiful 
statue  of  Madame  Letizia  by  Canova,  and  this  of  my 
wife  would  make  an  admirable  pendant;  but  I  repeat 
that  this  way  of  doing  it  does  not  please  me,  and  though  f 
I  may  seem  harsh,  I  again  say  to  you — Destroy  this 
statuette,  and  let  us  say  no  more  about  it." 

While  he  was  speaking  I  thought  to  myself — This 
statuette  and  portrait  of  his  wife  he  does  not  wish  to 
have,  but  rather  wishes  to  have  a  statue  of  her  of  life 


THE  ANNOYANCE  OF  THE  PRINCESS.       151 

size;  and  so  much  the  better.  And  then,  considering 
that  he  had  said  he  did  not  like  the  way  in  which  it  was 
done,  I  perceived,  as  I  ought  from  the  first  to  have  per- 
ceived, that  he  objected  to  the  Princess  coming  to  my 
studio  to  sit,  and  I  answered — 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed.  To-morrow  the  Princess  is  to 
return  to  give  me  a  sitting,  and  I  will  tell  her  all,  and 
this  clay  shall  go  back  into  the  tank.  But  I  hope  that 
you  will  not  forget  that  you  have  spoken  of  a  life-size 
statue  of  the  Princess ;  and  as  this  work  would  require 
considerable  time,  and  it  might  be  more  convenient 
to  her  that  I  should  model  it  in  your  own  palace,  I 
could " 

He  did  not  let  me  finish  my  sentence,  but,  embracing 
me  warmly  and  kissing  me,  said — 

"Thanks,  dear  Dupre,  that  is  right.  That  is  what 
pleases  me,  and  that  is  the  way  it  shall  be  done.  And 
now,  addio"  And  pressing  my  hand,  he  departed. 

The  day  after,  at  one  o'clock,  the  usual  hour,  the 
Princess  arrived,  gay  and  laughing,  as  usual ;  and  after 
giving  a  glance  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  and  arranging  a 
little  her  hair,  she  seated  herself  and  said — 

"  I  am  ready." 

I  had  not  as  yet  thrown  down  the  statuette.  There  it 
stood  uncovered,  just  as  the  Prince  had  left  it  the  day 
before. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Signora  Principessa,"  I  began, 
"  to  give  you  some  bad  news.  The  Prince  was  here 
yesterday." 

"  I  hope  you  did  not  allow  him  to  see  this  portrait  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  has  seen  it — he  has  seen  it,  Signora  Princi- 
pessa. It  was  useless  to  try  to  conceal  it  from  him,  and 
I  did  wrong  to  endeavour  to  do  so,  for  he  was  perfectly 
aware  of  its  existence  when  he  came  here.  He  must 


152  THE   PRINCESS   REMONSTRATES. 

have  been  exactly  informed  about  it ;  and  so  sure  was  he 
that  I  was  making  your  portrait,  that  he  planted  himself 
here  precisely  before  the  modelling-stand,  and  seeing 
that  I  was  unwilling  to  uncover  it,  he  uncovered  it  him- 
self without  any  ceremony.  He  told  me  that  I  did 
wrong  to  begin  the  work,  and  that  I  must  not  go  on 
with  it,  and,  in  fact,  he  has  expressly  ordered  me  to 
destroy  it  and  throw  it  down." 

While  I  was  thus  speaking  she  stood  disquieted  and 
frowning,  and  then  said  that  it  was  unjust,  absurd,  and 
ridiculous,  and  that  I  must  not  give  heed  to  him,  but 
that  she  should  stay,  and  I  must  go  on  with  the  portrait. 
After  a  while,  however,  she  grew  calmer,  and  decided  to 
go  away ;  and  this  was  well.  But  she  did  not  give  up 
the  matter,  and  the  day  after,  she  wrote  to  me  to  say  that 
she  should  return  to  give  me  more  sittings.  I  had  not 
yet  thrown  down  the  clay,  not  only  on  account  of  my 
natural  unwillingness  to  do  so,  which  is  excusable,  but 
also  because  of  the  advice  of  Prince  Jerome,  the  brother 
of  the  Princess  Matilde,  who  insisted  that  the  Prince 
could  not  pretend  to  anything  more  than  that  the  work 
should  be  suspended.  But  of  this  I  was  a  safer  and 
better  advised  judge  than  he,  and  well  knew  that  a 
husband  is  the  legitimate  master  of  his  own  wife,  and 
of  any  portrait  of  her.  But  I  repeat,  I  allowed  the 
statuette  to  remain  because  I  disliked  to  destroy  it. 
The  Princess  did  not  return  as  she  had  promised,  and 
wrote  again  to  me  to  expect  her  another  day.  This 
went  on  for  some  time ;  and  finally,  when  I  saw  her 
again,  she  told  me  that  she  was  going  to  Paris  with  the 
Prince,  and  that  on  her  return  we  must  go  on,  and  if 
the  Prince  persisted  in  his  ideas,  she  would  recompense 
me  for  the  work  I  had  done  on  it. 

In  fact,  she  went  to  Paris  with  the  Prince,  and  there 


I   MEET   THE   PRINCESS   IN   PARIS.  153 

she  remained ;  while  he,  recalled  by  the  Emperor  Nicholas 
of  Russia,  went  to  St  Petersburg,  where  he  found  that 
a  decree  of  divorce  had  been  demanded  by  the  Prin- 
cess and  signed  by  the  Emperor.  The  Prince  gave  me 
nothing  further  to  do,  except  some  slight  things  which 
are  scarcely  worth  mentioning,  and  the  Princess  entirely 
forgot  her  promise.  And  as  I  am  now  on  this  matter, 
and  in  order  to  make  an  end  of  it,  let  me  leap  over 
eleven  years,  and  say  that,  having  exhibited  in  Paris  at 
the  Exposition  of  1855,  besides  the  model  in  plaster 
of  the  Abel  (as  I  have  before  narrated),  a  reproduction 
in  small  of  this  statue  in  marble,  which  I  desired  to 
sell,  I  wrote  to  the  Princess  asking  her  to  purchase 
it.  This  I  did  to  remind  her  indirectly  of  her  pro- 
mise to  recompense  me  for  the  labour  I  had  given  to 
her  statuette,  but  she  never  answered.  I  now  make 
another  leap  over  twelve  years  more.  In  the  Exposition 
Universelle  at  Paris  in  1867,  I  was  one  of  the  Italian 
Jury  on  Sculpture ;  and  one  evening,  at  a  reception  at  the 
Tuilleries,  I  was  presented  by  our  minister  Nigra  to  the 
Emperor,  who  had  on  his  arm  the  Princess  Matilde. 
As  soon  as  she  saw  me  she  said,  "  We  have  known  each 
other  a  long  time ; "  but  I,  remembering  how  she  had 
treated  me,  pretended  to  have  no  remembrance  of  her. 
And  the  Emperor  looked  at  me  through  his  sleepy  eyes, 
and  must  have  thought  me  either  remarkably  forgetful  or 
a  great  fool.  The  Princess,  naturally,  never  deigned  to 
give  me  another  look. 

And  now  again  I  return  to  my  works.  After  Pius  II. 
I  put  up  a  figure  of  life-size  representing  Innocence. 
This  was  ordered  of  me  by  Signer  Tommasi  of  Leghorn ; 
but  later,  with  my  full  consent,  it  remained  on  my  hands, 
and  was  bought  by  Prince  Constantine  of  Russia.  I 
have  determined  not  to  judge  my  own  works,  though 


154  IDEALISTS   AND   NATURALISTS. 

here  and  there  I  may  give  a  little  hint ;  but  in  order  that 
these  memoirs  may  be  of  some  use,  it  is  well  that  I 
should  indicate  the  spirit  of  the  principles  which  guided 
me  in  my  work.  I  have  said  that  my  faith  in  the  pure 
imitation  of  nature  was  somewhat  shaken  by  the  criti- 
cisms of  my  Giotto  as  being  too  naturalistic.  Some 
reasonings  by  my  friends,  and  above  all,  certain  articles 
by  Giuseppe  Arcangeli  in  the  '  Rivista,  Sul  Bello  Ideale,' 
as  well  as  the  compliments  and  eulogies  of  my  statue  of 
Innocence  by  Borghi,  finally  persuaded  me  that  there 
does  exist  a  hello  ideale  impossible  to  find  in  nature, 
and  this  beauty  should  be  arrived  at  by  an  imitation  of 
the  antique,  and  by  the  aid  of  memory. 

Nothing  is  more  dangerous  than  this  theory.  Beauty 
is  scattered  over  universal  nature.  The  artist  born  to 
feel  and  perceive  this  beauty  (which  is  the  object  of  art) 
has  his  mind  and  heart  always  exercised  in  seeking  it 
out  and  expressing  it.  He  discerns  in  nature  one  or 
more  living  forms  that  in  some  degree  approximate  to 
the  type  he  has  in  his  mind,  and  the  reality  of  these,  by 
strengthening  his  ideals,  enables  him  to  work  the  latter 
properly  out.  The  artist  who  is  without  his  ideal,  and 
forces  himself  to  find  it  outside  of  nature,  torturing  his 
memory  with  what  he  has  seen  or  studied  in  the  works 
of  others,  makes  but  a  cold  and  conventional  work. 
The  animating  spark,  the  heat,  the  life,  does  not  inform 
his  work,  for  he  is  not  the  father,  but  only  the  stepfather 
of  his  children.  To  this  school  belong  the  imitators — 
that  is,  the  timid  friends  of  nature. 

On  the  other  side,  but  in  much  greater  numbers  and 
with  much  greater  petulance,  are  the  naturalistic  who 
despise  every  kind  of  ideality,  and  especially  despise 
it  because  they  have  it  not.  Neither  is  their  heart 
warmed  by  strong  and  sweet  affections,  nor  do  they 


BAD  EFFECTS  OF  EULOGY.  155 

with  their  eyes  or  their  mind  seize,  among  the  multiform 
shapes  of  nature,  a  type,  a  movement,  or  an  expression 
which,  assiduously  pursued,  awakens  and  fecundates  the 
idea  within  them.  The  first  ruffian  or  harlot  of  the  streets 
taken  by  evil  chance  suffices  for  them,  and  they  delight 
to  drag  this  noble  art  of  ours  through  filth  and  ugliness. 

Each  of  these  extremes  I  have  sought  to  avoid.  But 
it  is  none  the  less  true  that,  at  the  period  to  which  I  have 
arrived  in  my  narrative,  I  was  carried  a  little  away,  by 
the  discourses  and  writings  of  literary  men  and  critics  of 
Art,  on  the  road  that  leads  to  the  conventional  and 
academic.  This  bad  influence  weakened  my  faith  in 
nature  and  my  courage  in  my  work.  And  the  Pius 
II.,  the  Innocence,  and  the  Purity  are,  so  to  speak, 
the  mirrors  in  which  are  reflected  my  want  of  faith, 
uncertainty,  and  weakness  of  mind  during  these  three 
years  of  artistic  irresolution.  In  seeking  after  the  per- 
fect I  lost  the  little  good  that  my  genius  had  produced 
in  my  first  years,  uninfluenced  by  all  these  discussions, 
and  what  is  of  more  importance,  by  all  eulogies  both  of 
good  and  of  bad  alloy.  Yes,  also  of  bad  alloy.  The 
young  artist  should  take  heed  of  all  the  praise  that 
he  receives.  He  should  hold  it  in  suspicion,  and 
weigh  it,  and  make  a  large  deduction.  Eulogy  is  like 
a  perfume,  grateful  to  the  sense,  but  it  is  better  to  in- 
hale it  but  little,  little,  little,  because  it  goes  to  the  head, 
lulls  us  to  sleep,  and  sometimes  intoxicates  us  and  be- 
wilders us  so  that  we  lose  our  compass.  One  must  be 
prudent.  Flowers  of  too  strong  an  odour  must  be  kept 
outside  the  room.  Air  is  necessary — air.  I  hope  that 
these  words  will  fall  into  the  ear  of  some  to  whom  they 
may  do  good — I  mean,  of  those  who  not  only  sniff  up 
praise  with  eagerness,  but  are  discontented  because  they 
do  not  think  it  sufficient,  and  who  re-read  it  and  talk  of 


156  INJUDICIOUS   PRAISE. 

it  with  others  so  as  to  prolong  their  pleasure,  and  pre- 
serve all  the  papers  and  writings  which  speak  of  them, 
without  perceiving  that  this  is  all  vanity  and  pettiness  of 
heart. 

For  the  rest,  it  is  very  easy  to  see  how  one  may  vac- 
cilate,  and  even  fall ;  and  on  this  account  I  deem  it  my 
duty,  for  the  love  that  I  bear  to  young  men,  to  put  them 
on  their  guard  against  the  blandishments  of  praise. 
Imagine,  dear  reader,  an  inexperienced  youth  of  spirit 
and  lively  fancy,  who  in  his  first  essays  in  Art  finds 
it  said  and  written  of  him  that  he  has  surpassed  all 
others,  has  begun  where  others  ended,  that  he  is  born 
perhaps  to  outdo  the  Greeks  with  his  chisel,  that  Michael 
Angelo  must  descend  from  the  pedestal  he  has  occupied 
for  centuries,  and  other  similar  stuff — more  than  this, 
expose  him  to  the  envy  of  the  Maeviis,  and  those  light 
and  inconsiderate  flatteries,  which  are  all  the  more  dan- 
gerous when  made  attractive  by  courtesy  and  refinement 
of  expression, — and  you  will  have  the  secret  of  his  vac- 
cilations,  even  if  with  God's  help  he  is  not  led  utterly 
astray. 

At  this  most  trying  time  of  my  life  the  peace  of  my 
family  was  somewhat  disturbed  by  these  influences. 
My  wife  was  disquieted  because  I  had  prevented  her 
from  carrying  on  her  occupation.  Our  daily  necessities 
increased  with  the  growth  of  our  children.  Then  there 
were  requirements  and  troubles  on  account  of  my  father, 
thoughts  about  my  sister,  as  well  as  my  brother,  who 
wished  to  become  a  rougher-out  in  marble,  and  who 
brought  to  my  studio  very  little  aptitude  united  with 
great  pretensions  on  the  score  of  being  my  brother. 
All  these  annoyances  were  partly  confided  to  my  friend 
Venturi,  to  whom  I  poured  out  all  my  mind ;  and  he 
with  wise  and  kindly  words  consoled  me. 


BARTOLINI  AND   THE   CRUCIFIX.  157 

Not  the  least  affliction  to  me  was  Bartolini's  un- 
concealed animosity,  of  which  I  had  a  new  proof  in 
a  fact  which  it  is  here  the  place  to  narrate.  I  hope 
that  the  reader  will  remember  that  I  made,  while  in 
the  studio  of  Sani,  a  little  crucifix  which  the  Signor 
Emanuel  Fenzi  bought  for  the  chamber  of  his  son 
Orazio,  who  married  the  noble  Lady  Emilia  of  the 
Counts  Delia  Gherardesca.  About  this  time  Signor 
Emanuel  desired  to  make  my  acquaintance,  and  having 
become  intimate  with  me,  wished  to  have  me  often  with 
him.  Thus  he  discovered  that  this  crucifix  he  had 
bought  of  Sani  was  my  work,  and  I  cannot  say  how 
much  this  delighted  him.  To  his  dinners  and  conver- 
sazioni, which  were  frequented  by  many  foreigners  as 
well  as  Italians,  Bartolini  often  came  ;  but  he  was  never 
willing  to  renew  his  relations  with  me,  although  my 
bearing  towards  him  was  that  of  the  most  affectionate 
consideration.  As  long  as  this  unwillingness  was  con- 
cealed or  perceived  by  few,  I  bore  it  quietly;  but  it 
happened  that  it  was  soon  openly  exhibited.  One 
•  evening  after  dinner  the  salon  of  Signor  Fenzi  was  filled 
with  guests,  and  gay  with  all  sorts  of  talk.  Soon,  as  was 
natural,  the  conversation  fell  upon  Art ;  and  Bartolini, 
who  was  an  easy  and  clever  talker,  affirmed  that  the 
arts  were  in  decadence,  for  various  reasons  :  first,  because 
of  the  want  of  enthusiasm  and  faith  among  the  lower 
and  upper  classes,  both  of  whom  were  sleeping  in 
a  dolce  far  niente ;  and  second,  because  the  artists  had 
abandoned  the  right  road  of  imitation  of  beautiful 
nature,  and  were  pursuing  with  panting  breath  a  chimer- 
ical beauty,  which  they  called  a  betto  ideale ;  and  last, 
because  the  vices  of  both  had  usurped  the  place  of 
the  virtues  of  our  ancestors,  and  luxury,  apathy,  and 
avarice  had  drawn  out  of  our  beautiful  country  activity, 


158  BARTOLINI   AND   THE   CRUCIFIX. 

temperance,  modesty,  and  liberality, — and  he  illustrated 
this  by  various  instances  of  ancient  temperance  and 
modesty.  While  Bartolini  was  speaking,  Signor  Fenzi 
went  into  the  chamber  of  the  Cavaliere  Orazio  and 
brought  out  the  "  Christ,"  which,  by  reason  of  the  long 
time  that  it  had  been  executed,  and  perhaps  of  the  kisses 
of  the  pious  Signora  Emilia,  had  an  antique  look,  and 
showing  it  to  the  maestro,  said — 

"  Look  at  this  work." 

After  examining  it,  he  said,  "The  proof  that  our 
artists  of  old  were  as  able  as  they  were  modest  can  be 
seen  in  this  work.  The  artist  who  made  it,  and  who 
probably  was  only  an  intagliatore,  would  have  been 
able  to  make  a  statue  such  as  perhaps  no  one  to-day 
could." 

At  this  Fenzi  replied,  with  a  smile,  "  Excuse  me,  but 
you  are  in  error.  This  is  a  modern  work,  and  there  is 
the  artist  who  made  it,"  pointing  me  out,  who  was  just 
coming  in  at  that  moment. 

Bartolini  laid  down  the  "Christ,"  spoke  not  a  word 
more,  and  did  not  deign  even  to  look  at  me,  although- 
he  had  praised  the  work.  This  did  not  seem  just,  either 
to  Fenzi  or  to  any  of  the  persons  there  present. 


159 


CHAPTER     IX. 


THE  POLITICAL  REFORMS  OF  THE  YEAR  1847  IN  TUSCANY — MY  FIRST  SCHOLARS 
— CISERI,  PRATI,  ALEARDI,  FUSINATO,  COLETTI,  AND  CHIARINI  THE  IM- 
PROVISATORE — INEDITED  VERSES  BY  PRATI — GIUSEPPE  VERDI — A  DIGRES- 
SION ON  ARTISTIC  INDIVIDUALITY — THE  EMPEROR  OF  RUSSIA'S  VISIT  TO 
MY  STUDIO — REACTIONARY  MOVEMENT  OF  THE  I2TH  OF  APRIL  1849 — I  AM 
IN  DANGER  OF  MY  LIFE — THE  RETURN  OF  THE  GRAND  DUKE. 


'HE  elevation  of  Pius  IX.  to  the  Pontificate, 
the  amnesty  and  reforms  granted  by  that 
Pontiff,  which  initiated  and  awoke  the  liberal 
sentiments  of  all  Italy,  were  perhaps  felt 
more  in  Florence  than  elsewhere,  almost  all  the  political 
refugees  from  the  different  States  having  for  some  time 
past  found  a  safe  and  peaceful  home  there,  owing  to  the 
character  and  patriarchal  laws  of  the  Grand  Duke.  This 
drew  me  away  from  the  serene  quiet  of  my  studio,  and  with 
the  others  I  shouted,  "  Long  live  Ferruccio !  Pius  IX. ! 
the  press  !  the  civic  guard  and  Gioberti ! "  and  all  the  rest. 
The  principal  leader  of  our  peaceful  demonstrations  was 
the  advocate  Antonio  Mordini,  and  after  him  came 
Giuseppe  La  Farina,  and  others.  Not  a  petition  was 
made  to  the  Government  or  a  deputation  sent  to  the 
Prince  in  which  I  did  not  take  part.  Whether  our 
honest  demands  were  of  use  to  the  country,  I  will  not 
discuss,  but  certainly  my  work  suffered  not  a  little  from 
this  state  of  things.  Nor  was  I  the  only  one  to  abandon 


160        POLITICS  AND   REVOLUTION   OF  '48. 

the  studio ;  all,  young  and  old,  were  possessed  and  in- 
flamed with  a  national  aspiration  for  independence  from 
foreign  occupation.  The  consequence  of  all  this  ex- 
citement was,  that  I  was  taken  away  from  my  studies 
and  work ;  and,  in  short,  while  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  patriotic  enthusiasm,  there  was  but  little  study,  very 
little  profit,  and  much  idle  talk  on  questions  more  or 
less  futile,  by  which  family  peace  was  destroyed,  and 
friendship  made  a  matter  of  caution  and  suspicion. 

Although  in  these  memoirs  I  do  not  propose  to  speak 
of  politics  (not  feeling  equal  to  it),  I  wish  to  touch  on 
the  great  events  that  produced  the  revolution  of  '48,  as 
they  were  one  of  the  causes  of  interruption  in  my  art ; 
and  even  in  politics,  in  consequence  of  the  turn  things 
were  taking,  I  found  myself  set  aside.  Some  of  my 
friends  whose  views  went  far  beyond  mine  left  me,  and 
the  others  that  had  remained  stationary  blamed  me 
even  for  those  temperate  aspirations  that  were  those 
also  of  the  Government.  I  was  disheartened,  self-in- 
volved, and  ill  at  ease.  With  the  growth  of  the  revo- 
lution, the  departure  of  the  Grand  Duke,  and  the  dread 
of  a  dangerous  crisis,  artistic  life  was  not  one  of  the 
most  flourishing,  and  I  had  not  work  of  any  kind,  except 
to  retouch  the  wax  of  "  Abel  and  Cain,"  that  the  Grand 
Duke  had  given  an  order  to  Papi  to  cast  in  bronze. 

Seeing  this,  I  concentrated  all  my  life  in  my  family 
affections.  My  studio  had  become  deserted ;  my  scholars 
— Tito  Sarrocchi,  Luigi  Majoli,  and  Enrico  Pazzi — had 
left  me  to  go  to  the  camp.  They  returned  afterwards, 
but  were  always  tossed  about  on  the  wave  of  the  revolu- 
tion. Only  one  of  my  workmen,  Romualdo  Bianchini, 
was  left  dead  on  the  field,  the  29th  of  May,  at  Curtatone. 

I  passed  my  days  in  great  sadness.  Antonio  Ciseri, 
with  whom  I  had  contracted  a  friendship  from  my 


POETS  AND  IMPROVISATION.  l6l 

earliest  steps  in  art,  had  his  studio  near  mine,  and  we 
used  to  exchange  visits.  Although  he  was  not  a  facile 
talker,  his  nature  was  open  and  ingenuous ;  and  as  his 
principles  in  art,  his  morals,  and  his  habits  agreed  with 
mine,  a  strong  friendship  grew  up  between  us,  which  has 
never  diminished ;  and  if  years  have  whitened  our  beards, 
our  hearts  have  not  grown  old,  and  we  love  each  as  in 
our  early  years.  To-day  he  is  one  of  our  first  painters, 
and  has  a  number  of  able  and  devoted  scholars. 

Amongst  my  friends  was  also  Dr  Giuseppe  Saltini, 
who  for  many  years  had  been  a  physician  in  the  employ- 
ment of  the  Government,  and  now  leads  a  hard  life  with 
restricted  means,  on  account  of  having  so  many  children. 
Now  I  will  describe  an  evening  passed  most  pleasantly  in 
those  times.  One  day  some  clever  men  came  to  see  me 
— Prati,  Aleardi,  Fusinato,  Coletti,  doctor  and  poet,  and 
others  that  I  do  not  remember.  They  said  to  me,  "  Is 
it  true  that  in  Florence  there  are,  as  in  the  days  gone 
by,  improvisatori  poets  ?  We  [it  was  Prati  who  spoke] 
are  curious  to  hear  one,  and  have  not  the  pretension, 
as  you  can  imagine,  to  expect  high  flights,  but  only  free 
verses,  and  really  improvised.  Here  is  Aleardi  (whom 
I  present  to  you),  who  is  a  confounded  sceptic  on  the 
subject  of  improvisation,  and  says  that  these  people 
commit  to  memory  a  great  quantity  of  verses  of  various 
measures,  and  when  the  occasion  offers  itself,  have  the  art 
of  patching  them  together  in  such  a  way  that  the  mosaic 
resembles  a  real  picture.  You  must  know,  however,  that 
my  friend  is  very  slow  in  composition, — much  slower  than 
I  am,  although  he  is  a  far  abler  and  more  graceful  poet." 

"  I  believe,"  said  I,  "  I  know  just  the  person  you  are 
looking  for,  and  Aleardi  will  be  disabused  of  such  a 
notion.  It  is  a  certain  Chiarini,  called  Baco,  who  keeps 
a  little  stall  under  the  Uffizi,  and  I  have  heard  him 

L 


1 62  AN   IMPROVISATORE. 

many  times,  alone  or  in  company  of  others.  It  was  real 
improvisation ;  the  flow  of  his  ideas  was  not  common  or 
vulgar,  and  he  invested  them  with  a  graceful  and  vigor- 
ous form.  You  shall  hear  him.  I  will  take  upon  myself 
to  invite  him  to  come.  Return  here,  and  I  will  tell  you 
when  he  is  able  to  do  so,  for  he  is  a  man  who  has  much 
to  do.  During  the  day,  as  I  have  said,  he  attends  to 
his  little  shop  under  the  Uffizi,  and  in  the  evening  he 
is  engaged  to  go  here  and  there  on  purpose  to  show  his 
skill  as  an  extempore  poet." 

The  poet  having  been  engaged,  and  an  appointment 
made  for  my  friends  at  the  studio,  trial  of  his  im- 
provisation took  place;  and  he  did  not  know  who 
his  listeners  were,  which  was  perhaps  as  well,  for  who 
knows  how  much  the  poor  poet  might  have  felt  em- 
barrassed by  the  presence  of  such  men  ?  A  table  was 
constructed  by  laying  a  board  on  two  trestles.  I  had 
invited,  besides  Prati  and  the  rest,  Ciseri  the  painter, 
Giulio  Piatti,  and  some  others  whom  I  do  not  remem- 
ber. The  table  was  laid  with  great  simplicity — some 
bread,  sausages,  and  wine  serving  only  as  a  sort  of  excuse 
for  animating  our  poet  with  a  little  food  and  drink. 
Before  anything  else  was  done,  Aleardi  and  Prati  be- 
sieged the  improvisatore  with  questions  to  ascertain  how 
far  his  culture  went ;  and  although  he  showed  that  he 
was  familiar  and  well  acquainted  with  the  poets,  be- 
ginning with  Homer  and  Virgil  down  to  our  times — so 
that  he  could  repeat  by  memory  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  fragments — as  far  as  history,  geography,  and 
critical  works  went,  he  really  knew  very  little,  or  at 
least  so  pretended.  Then  without  further  preamble 
Chiarini  said,  "Some  one  give  me  a  theme.  I  feel 
in  the  mood  for  singing ; "  and  seating  himself  whilst 
waiting,  he  began  a  prelude  upon  his  guitar,  which  was 


DEATH   OF   BUONDELMONTE.  163 

sometimes  soft  and  mournful,  and  then  again  loud  and 
stirring.  Seeing  that  we  delayed  giving  him  a  subject,  he 
began  to  sing  off  verse  after  -verse  in  ottava  rima,  and 
stringing  together  a  series  of  piquant  and  pointed  re- 
marks against  us,  ridiculing  our  torpor  and  indifference. 
I  cannot  describe  our  hearty  laughter  in  hearing  the 
deluge  of  sarcasm  and  biting  epigrams  launched  at  each 
of  us  in  turn  by  way  of  stirring  us  up.  The  verses  were 
so  flowing,  fresh,  and  spirited,  that  they  really  did  not 
seem  like  improvisations,  so  that  Prati,  a  little  irritated, 
after  a  brief  consultation  with  the  others,  gave  out  the 
following  them'e  :  "  The  death  of  Buondelmonte  of  the 
Buondelmonti."  Our  poet  began  as  if  he  had  studied 
the  subject  before  in  all  its  parts,  situations,  colouring, 
names,  dates,  and  particulars,  the  circumstances  and 
sad  consequences  of  that  tragic  death,  and  sang  with 
inspired  freedom,  and  with  always  increasing  warmth 
and  passion.  The  tender  and  pure  love  of  the  Amidei, 
the  betrothal  and  pledges  made  between  the  two  families, 
the  insidious  and  malicious  conduct  of  the  mother  of 
the  Donati,  the  frivolities  of  Buondelmonte  attracted 
by  the  saucy  beauty  of  her  daughter,  the  perjury  and 
breaking  away  of  the  compact  with  the  Amidei  family, 
the  marriage  arranged  with  the  Donati,  the  preparations 
for  this  marriage,  the  rage  of  the  Amidei  and  their  fol- 
lowers for  such  an  atrocious  insult  and  want  of  good  faith, 
their  schemes  of  vengeance,  the  conspiracy,  the  ambush 
and  murder  at  the  foot  of  the  statue  of  Mars  (where  he 
interpolated  in  a  masterly  way  the  saying  of  Mosca — 

"  Lasso  !  capo  ha  cosa  fatta,  che  fu  '1  mal  seme  della  gente  Tosca") 

— it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  thing  stood  there  before 
him,  not  as  a  picture,  but  a  living  and  breathing  reality ; 
while  he,  with  his  head  and  eyes  uplifted,  was  heedless 


164  PRATI'S   IMPROVISATION. 

of  our  enthusiasm  and  shouts  of  applause.  He  sang  for 
almost  two  hours ;  and  when  he  had  finished,  all  bathed 
with  perspiration,  he  put  down  his  lute  and  drank. 
Prati  and  the  others  embraced  him  with  effusion,  only 
regretting  that,  owing  to  the  rapidity  and  rush  of  the 
poet's  inspiration,  they  had  been  able  to  retain  but  a 
few  lines.  Prati,  however,  repeated  and  perhaps  some- 
what refashioned  a  whole  verse  in  ottava  rima,  and 
not  content  with  expressing  his  admiration  in  words, 
wished  to  prove  it  to  poor,  tired,  and  excited  Baco  by 
dictating  an  improvised  sonnet  to  him,  of  which  I  re- 
member the  first  four  and  the  last  three  lines. 

In  order,  however,  to  understand  Prati's  verses,  it  is 
necessary  to  know  that  in  those  days  the  Capponi 
Ministry  had  fallen,  and  Guerrazzi  come  into  power. 
Prati,  who  had  suffered  some  persecution  from  him, 
owing  to  having  in  his  harangues  before  the  Circolo 
Politico  Moderato  fulminated  Pindarically  against  this 
Titan  from  Leghorn,  whilst  praising  the  improvisatore, 
lashes  out  against  the  opposition.  Here  are  the  verses, 
and  I  regret  I  have  only  retained  these  in  my  memory : — 

"  S'  improvvisan  ministri  alia  recisa; 
S'  inalzan  nuovi  altari  a  nuovi  del ; 
Ma  un  improvvisator  come  tu  sei, 
Per  la  croce  di  Dio  !  non  s'  improvvisa. " 

"  One  soon  may  improvise  new  ministers,] 

•   Unto  new  deities  raise  altars  new ; 
But  an  improvisator  like  to  you, 
By  God's  own  cross  !  one  cannot  improvise. " 

And  the  last  three  lines  are  : — 

"  Felice, 

Che  almen  tu  vivi  alia  febea  fatica, 
Ne  sei  di  quelli  che  una  nuova  Italia 
Tentando  improvvisar,  guastan  1'  antica. " 


REPLICA  OF   THE  ABEL.  165 

"  Happy  you  live  in  your  Phoebean  toils, 
Not  one  of  those  that  our  new  Italy 
Striving  to  improvise,  the  antique  spoils." 

And,  placing  his  signature  at  the  bottom  of  it,  he  pre- 
sented it  to  Chiarini,  whose  face,  when  he  had  read  it 
and  seen  by  whom  it  was  signed,  assumed  an  expression 
of  admiration  mingled  with  regret  touching  to  behold. 

The  evening  passed  gaily.  Prati  also  improvised, 
encouraged  (which  is  saying  a  great  deal)  and  accom- 
panied by  Chiarini,  and,  despite  his  puffing  and  blowing, 
said  some  very  fine  things.  At  last  we  separated,  en- 
gaging our  improvisatore  for  another  evening  in  another 
place ;  but  this  I  shall  omit. 

This  symposium  of  artists  was  one  of  the  few  pleasures 
of  those  days,  when  my  interest  and  enthusiasm  for  Art 
were  relaxed,  and  I  had  no  opportunity  to  work,  as  I 
have  before  said,  because,  except  retouching  in  wax 
the  Abel  and  Cain,  and  some  few  portraits,  I  had 
absolutely  nothing  to  do.  In  connection  with  these 
statues  that  the  Grand  Duke  had  ordered  in  bronze, 
let  me  say  that,  having  finished  in  marble  the  Abel, 
the  Grand  Duke  saw  it,  regretted  that  he  had  not  ordered 
it  himself,  and  that  it  was  to  go  away  from  Florence. 
I  proposed,  to  satisfy  his  wishes,  to  make  a  replica ;  but 
he  was  set  upon  having  the  original.  It  was  in  vain  I 
said  that  any  replica  made  by  him  who  had  originally 
made  the  model  is  always  and  substantially  original,  the 
artist  in  finishing  it  always  introducing  modifications 
and  changes  which  make  it  an  original  and  not  a  copy. 
His  Highness  was  not  satisfied  with  this  reasoning,  and 
preferred  that  it  should  be  cast  in  bronze,  making  the 
mould  upon  that  which  was  already  finished  in  marble. 

I  answered,  "  In  order  to  do  that,  I  must  have  the 
permission  of  the  owner." 


1 66       CAST   OF  ABEL   FOR   THE  GRAND   DUKE. 

"  Right,"  he  said  to  me ;  "  and  if,  as  you  assure  me, 
the  marble  is  not  injured  by  making  the  mould,  I  am 
certain  that  permission  will  be  given." 

I  wrote  to  the  Imperial  household  of  Russia  that  his 
Highness  the  Grand  Duke  wished  to  have  a  cast  in 
bronze  of  the  Abel,  taking  the  mould  from  the  finished 
marble  that  I  was  making  for  his  Imperial  Majesty  (the 
Grand  Duchess  Marie  having  presented  both  this  statue 
and  the  Cain  to  her  father  the  Emperor  Nicholas). 
The  answer  was  precisely  this :  "  If  the  Abel  is  fin- 
ished, have  it  boxed  up  and  sent  immediately." 

I  showed  the  answer  to  the  Grand  Duke,  who  smiled 
and  said — 

"  One  cannot  deny  that  the  answer  is  not  very  gra- 
cious ;  but  now,  as  I  really  desire  to  have  this  statue  in 
bronze,  tell  me,  could  not  a  mould  be  taken  from  the 
plaster-cast  ?  " 

"Your  Highness,  yes;  and  for  this,  only  the  consent  of 
the  artist  is  required." 

"  And  do  you  give  this  consent?" 

"  I  prefer  to  take  the  mould  from  the  plaster-cast 
rather  than  from  the  marble,  because  the  cast  is  the  more 
accurate — in  fact,  is  the  true  original." 

And  so  it  was  settled.  And  at  the  same  time,  he 
ordered  also  the  Cain,  from  which  I  removed  the  trunk 
that  served  as  a  support  in  the  marble,  bent  a  little  more 
the  arm  and  the  hand,  which  was  upon  the  forehead,  and 
remodelled  it  almost  entirely  in  the  wax. 

About  this  time  Giuseppe  Verdi  came  to  Florence  to 
bring  out  his  'Macbeth.'  If  I  mistake  not,  it  was  the  first 
time  he  ever  came  among  us;  but  his  fame  had  pre- 
ceded him.  Enemies,  it  is  natural,  he  had  in  great 
numbers.  I  was  an  admirer  of  all  his  works  then  known, 
'  Nabuco,'  'Ernani,'  and  'Giovanna  d'Arco.'  His  enemies 


VISIT  OF  VERDI.  l6/ 

said  that  as  an  artist  he  was  very  vulgar,  and  corrupted 
the  Italian  school  of  singing ;  and  as  a  man,  they  said  he 
was  an  absolute  bear,  full  of  pride  and  arrogance,  and 
disdained  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  any  one.  Wish- 
ing to  convince  myself  at  once  of  the  truth  of  this,  I 
wrote  a  note  in  the  following  terms :  "  Giovanni  Dupre 
begs  the  illustrious  Maestro  G.  Verdi  to  do  him  the 
honour  of  paying  him  a  visit  at  his  studio  whenever  it  is 
convenient  for  him  to  do  so,  as  he  desires  to  show  him 
his  Cain,  that  he  is  now  finishing  in  marble,  before  he 
sends  it  away."  But  in  order  to  see  how  much  of  a  bear 
he  really  was,  I  carried  the  letter,  and  represented  my- 
self as  a  young  man  belonging  to  the  Professor's  studio. 
He  received  me  with  great  urbanity,  read  the  letter,  and 
then,  with  a  face  which  was  neither  serious  nor  smiling, 
•he  said — 

"  Tell  the  Professor  that  I  thank  him  very  much,  and 
I  will  go  to  see  him  as  soon  as  possible,  for  I  had  it 
in  my  mind  to  do  so,  wishing  to  know  personally  a 
young  sculptor  who,"  &c. 

I  answered,  "  If  you,  Signor  Maestro,  desire  to  make 
the  acquaintance  as  soon  as  possible  of  that  young  sculp- 
tor, you  can  have  that  satisfaction  at  once,  for  I  am  he." 

He  smiled  pleasantly,  and  shaking  my  hand,  he  said, 
"  Oh,  this  is  just  like  an  artist." 

We  talked  a  long  time  together,  and  he  showed  me 
some  letters  of  introduction  that  he  had  for  Capponi, 
Giusti,  and  Niccolini.  The  one  for  Giusti  was  from 
Manzoni.  All  the  time  that  he  remained  in  Florence 
we  saw  each  other  every  day.  We  made  some  excur- 
sions into  the  neighbourhood,  such  as  to  the  Ginori 
porcelain  manufactory,  to  Fiesole,  and  to  .Torre  del 
Gallo.  We  were  a  company  of  four  or  five :  Andrea 
Maffei,  Manara,  who  afterwards  died  at  Rome,  Giulio 


1 68  VERDI. 

Piatti,  Verdi,  and  myself.  In  the  evenings  he  allowed 
either  the  one  or  the  other  of  us  to  go  to  hear  the  re- 
hearsals of  '  Macbeth ; '  in  the  mornings  he  and  Maffei 
very  often  came  to  my  studio.  He  had  a  great  deal  of 
taste  for  painting  and  sculpture,  and  talked  of  them  with 
no  ordinary  acumen.  He  had  a  great  preference  for 
Michael  Angelo ;  and  I  remember  that,  in  the  chapel  of 
Canon  Sacchi,  which  is  below  Fiesole,  on  the  old  road, 
where  there  is  a  fine  collection  of  works  of  art,  he  re- 
mained on  his  knees  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in 
admiration  of  an  altar-piece  said  to  be  the  work  of  Michael 
Angelo.  I  wanted  to  make  his  bust;  but  for  reasons 
independent  of  his  will  and  mine,  this  plan  could  not  be 
carried  into  effect,  and  I  contented  myself  with  taking  a 
cast  of  his  hand,  which  I  afterwards  cut  in  marble  and 
presented  to  the  Siennese  Philharmonic  Society,  to  which 
I  have  belonged  since  1843,  when,  as  I  have  before 
said,  I  went  to  Siena.  The  hand  of  Verdi  is  in  the 
act  of  writing.  In  taking  the  cast  the  pen  remained 
embedded  in  it,  and  now  serves  as  a  little  stick  to  my 
sketch  of  Sant'  Antonino. 

Verdi  seemed  to  be  pleased  with  the  Cain,  the  fierce 
and  savage  nature  of  which  he  felt  in  his  very  blood ; 
and  I  remember  that  my  friend  Maffei  endeavoured  to 
persuade  him  that  a  fine  drama,  with  effective  situations 
and  contrasts  of  character,  with  which  Verdi's  genius 
and  inclination  fitted  him  to  cope,  could  be  made  out  of 
Byron's  tragedy  of '  Cain,'  which  he  was  then  translating. 
The  gentleness  of  character  and  piety  of  Abel  con- 
trasted with  that  of  Cain,  excited  by  fierce  anger  and 
envy  because  the  offer  of  Abel  was  acceptable  to  God  ; 
Abel,  who  caresses  his  brother  and  talks  to  him  about 
God — and  Cain,  who  scornfully  rejects  his  gentle  words, 
uttering  blasphemies  even  against  God;  a  chorus  of 


CAIN,  A  SUBJECT  FOR  AN   OPERA.  169 

invisible  angels  in  the  air,  a  chorus  of  demons  under 
ground  ;  Cain,  who,  blinded  by  anger,  kills  his  brother ; 
then  the  mother,  who  at  the  cry  of  Abel  rushes  in  and 
finds  him  dead,  then  the  father,  then  the  young  wife  of 
Abel ;  the  grief  of  all  for  the  death  of  that  pure  character, 
their  horror  of  the  murderer;  the  dark  and  profound 
remorse  of  Cain;  and  finally,  the  curse  that  fell  upon 
him, — all  formed  a  theme  truly  worthy  of  the  dramatic 
and  Biblical  genius  of  Giuseppe  Verdi.  I  remember 
that  at  the  time  he  was  much  taken  with  it ;  but  he  did 
nothing  more  about  it,  and  I  suppose  he  had  his  good 
reasons.  Perhaps  the  nudity  was  an  obstacle.  Still,  with 
the  skins  of  wild  beasts,  tunics  and  eminently  pictur- 
esque mantles  can  be  made ;  at  all  events  he  could  have 
set  the  subject  to  music  if  it  offered  him  situations  and 
effects  and  really  attracted  him,  for  Verdi  has  shown  in 
his  many  works  that  he  possesses  that  sublime  and  fiery 
genius  which  is  adapted  to  such  a  tremendous  drama. 
He  who  had  conceived  the  grand  and  serious  melodies 
of 'Nabuco,'  the  pathetic  songs  of  the  'Trovatore'  and  the 
'  Traviata,'  and  the  local  colour,  character,  and  sublime 
harmonies  of  'Aida,'  might  well  set  Cain  to  music. 
Should  Verdi  at  any  time  read  these  pages,  who  knows 
what  he  may  do  ? 

And  here  perhaps  it  is  best  for  me  to  make  a  slight 
digression,  in  order  to  speak  of  the  character  .and  dis- 
position which  specially  belong  to  every  artist  indepen- 
dently of  everything  else — of  his  studies,  of  what  he 
copies,  and  of  the  fashion  of  the  day.  Who  would  have 
thought  that  so  sweet  and  strong  a  painter  as  Giotto 
would  ever  have  risen  out  of  the  harsh  and  coarse 
mosaic-paintings  of  the  Byzantines  and  the  teachings 
of  Cimabue  ?  Variety  of  character,  truth  of  movement 
and  expression,  broad  and  flowing  draperies,  colouring 


I/O  CHARACTER   OF   THE   ARTIST. 

at  once  temperate,  airy,  and  strong,  were,  it  might  be 
said,  created  by  him,  and  took  the  place  of  the  hardness, 
and  I  could  almost  say  deformity,  of  the  Byzantines  and 
the  dryness  of  the  works  of  Cimabue.  Nor  did  Fra 
Giovanni  Angelico  show  less  originality  and  individu- 
ality in  his  works.  He  lived  in  the  full  noon  of  the 
naturalistic  school  of  Masaccio,  Lippi,  and  Donatello, 
and  his  pure  spirit  drew  its  inspirations  from  the  mystic 
and  ideal  sources  of  heaven,  the  Virgin,  and  the  saints, 
not  only  in  his  subjects,  but  in  their  treatment.  Michael 
Angelo,  solitary  in  the  midst  of  a  corrupt,  avaricious, 
and  lascivious  civilisation,  by  his  temperament  and  will 
was  conspicuous  for  his  purity  of  morals,  his  large 
liberality,  and  his  intellectual  love;  and  despite  of 
Raphael  and  Leonardo,  those  most  splendid  planets  of 
Art,  he  maintained  his  originality,  and  his  great  figure 
towers  like  a  giant  among  them. 

The  artist  by  nature,  developed  by  study,  becomes 
original  and  has  a  character  distinct  from  all  others,  and 
in  no  way,  not  even  in  the  slightest  characteristic,  can, 
despite  any  exterior  influence,  be  different  from  what  he  is. 
For  if  Giotto  had  been  born  and  educated  in  the  sixteenth 
or  seventeenth  century,  he  would  not  have  painted  the 
vain  pomps  and  the  archaic  frivolities  of  that  period ; 
nor  would  Fra  Angelico  at  the  school  of  Giulio  Romano 
have  given  himself  up  to  the  lasciviousness  of  his  master; 
nor  would  Michael  Angelo  have  been  warped,  nor  was  he 
warped,  by  the  strength  of  those  giants  Leonardo  and 
Raphael.  The  artist,  then,  is  what  he  is  and  such  as 
he  is  born,  and  study  will  only  fertilise  his  genius,  his 
nature,  and  his  propensities,  nor  can  he  with  the  utmost 
force  of  his  will  conceive  and  create  a  work  contrary  to 
his  nature  and  to  his  genius.  Michael  Angelo  would 
never  have  been  able,  even  with  a  hundred  years  of  the 


ROSSINI'S  VIEWS  OF  VERDI.  I?I 

most  powerful  effort,  to  create  a  Paradise  like  that  of 
Giovanni  Angelico;  and  Fra  Angelico  would  never 
have  imagined  even  one  of  the  figures  of  the  Last  Judg- 
ment in  the  Sistine  Chapel.  I  remember — and  this  is 
my  reason  for  this  digression — that  one  day  Rossini, 
speaking  to  me  confidentially  of  Art  in  general,  and  upon 
this  subject  and  all  its  bearings  (and  he  was  a  competent 
judge),  came  by  degrees  to  speak  of  music,  and  of  the 
individual  character  of  the  composers  he  had  known, 
and  in  regard  to  Verdi  he  spoke  thus  :  "  You  see,  Verdi 
is  a -master  whose  character  is  serious  and  melancholy; 
his  colouring  is  dark  and  sad,  which  springs  abundantly 
and  spontaneously  from  his  genius,  and  precisely  for 
this  reason  is  most  valuable.  I  have  the  highest  esteem 
for  it ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  indubitable  that  he 
will  never  compose  a  semi-serious  opera  like  the  '  Linda,' 
and  still  less  a  comic  opera  like  the  '  Elixir  d'Amore.' " 

I  added,  "Nor  like  the  '  Barbiere.'" 

He  replied,  "  Leave  me  entirely  out  of  the  question." 

This  he  said  to  me  twenty-two  years  ago  in  my  studio 
in  the  Candeli,  and  Verdi  has  not  yet  composed  a  comic 
or  semi-serious  opera,  nor  do  I  believe  that  he  has  ever 
thought  of  doing  so ;  and  in  this  he  has  been  quite  right. 
The  musical  art  and  Italy  wait  for  a  '  Cain  '  from  him,  and 
they  wait  for  it  because  he  himself  felt  the  will  and  the 
power  to  create  it. 

I  remember  also  another  judgment  and  another  ex- 
pression of  Rossini's  in  regard  to  Verdi.  One  evening 
after  dinner  I  stayed  on  with  him,  because  he  liked  to 
have  a  little  talk.  He  was  walking  slowly  up  and  down 
the  dining-room,  for  he  did  not  like  to  leave  the  room, 
the  unpleasant  odour  which  remains  after  dinner  giving 
him  apparently  no  annoyance.  The  Signora  Olimpia, 
his  wife,  was  playing  a  game  of  cards  called  minchiate 


1/2  ROSSINI   ON   VERDI. 

with  one  of  the  regular  friends  of  the  house — I  mean 
one  of  those  inevitable  sticks  that  old  ladies  make  use 
of  to  amuse  them  and  help  them  to  pass  the  time  at 
cards. 

Some  one  always  arrived  late,  but  Rossini  would  not 
see  everybody.  This  evening,  if  I  mistake  not,  came  the 
Signora  Varese,  Signer  de  Luigi,  and  others  whom  I 
did  not  know ;  then  two  youths,  who  apparently  were 
music -masters,  and  they,  after  saluting  the  Signora, 
turned  to  Rossini  with  these  words  :  "  Have  you  heard, 
Signer  Maestro,  the  criticism  of  Scudo  on  the  new  opera 
of  Verdi,  '  I  Vespri  Siciliani,'  which  has  just  been  given 
in  Paris?" 

"  No,"  answered  Rossini,  rather  seriously. 

"A  regular  criticism,  you  know;  you  should  read  it. 
It  is  in  the  last  number  of  the  '  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.' 
And  then  they  began  to  repeat  some  of  these  opinions 
of  Scudo's,  with  adulation,  which,  if  courteous,  was  little 
praiseworthy.  But  Rossini  interrupted  them,  saying — 

"  They  make  me  laugh  when  they  criticise  Verdi  in 
this  way,  and  with  such  a  pen !  To  write  an  able  and 
true  criticism  of  him,  requires  higher  capacity  and  an 
abler  pen.  In  my  opinion,  this  would  require  two  Italian 
composers  of  music  who  could  write  better  than  he  does 
himself;  but  as  these  Italian  musical  composers  who  are 
superior  to  Verdi  are  yet  to  come,  we  must  content  our- 
selves with  his  music,  applaud  him  when  he  does  well," 
and  here  he  clapped  his  hands,  "and  warn  him  in  a 
fraternal  way  when  we  think  he  could  have  done  better." 
As  he  finished  these  words  he  seemed  a  little  heated,  and 
almost  offended,  as  if  he  thought  that  these  people  had 
come  to  give  him  this  news  by  way  of  flattering  him,  or 
in  order  to  have  the  violent  criticism  of  Scudo  confirmed. 
The  fact  is,  he  must  have  already  read  the  criticism  itself, 


VISIT   OF   THE   EMPEROR   OF   RUSSIA.         173 

as  I  had  seen  the  number  of  the  'Revue'  on  his  table 
before  dinner.  The  conversation  then  changed,  and 
nothing  more  was  said. 

About  this  time  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  who  was 
passing  through  Florence,  honoured  me  with  a  visit.  I 
should  have  passed  over  in  silence  this  fact ;  but  as  it 
was  the  occasion  of  a  false  impression,  by  which  I  ap- 
peared to  be  the  most  stupid  and  ignorant  man  in  the 
world,  it  is  better  that  I  should  narrate  exactly  what 
occurred.  Signer  Mariotti,  the  agent  for  the  Russian 
Imperial  household,  who,  the  reader  may  remember, 
had  procured  for  me  the  commission  for  the  marble  of 
Abel,  sent  me  word  that  during  the  day  the  Emperor 
would  come  to  see  the  Cain,  which  was  already  finished 
in  marble.  I  waited  for  him  all  day;  but  towards  evening, 
an  hour  before  nightfall,  I  dressed  myself  to  go  away, 
n'ot  believing  that  any  one  would  come  at  that  hour. 
Just  as  I  was  going  out  I  heard  a  disturbance,  a  noise 
of  carriages  and  horses,  and  saw  the  Emperor  stopping 
at  my  studio.  It  was  nearly  dark,  so,  with  a  stout  heart, 
before  he  descended  I  went  to  the  door  of  the  carriage 
and  said — 

"Your  Majesty,  I  am  highly  honoured  by  your  visit 
to  my  studio,  but  I  fear  that  your  Majesty  cannot  satisfy 
your  desire  to  see  the  Cain,  as  it  is  nearly  nightfall,  and 
I  should  like  to  show  this  work  of  mine  in  a  more 
favourable  light." 

The  street  was  full  of  curious  people ;  the  studios  of 
the  artists  my  neighbours  were  all  open,  and  they  were 
in  the  doorway ;  the  ministers  of  the  Imperial  house  put 
their  heads  out  of  their  carriage  to  see  what  was  the 
reason 'the  Emperor  did  not  get  out,  and  with  whom 
he  was  talking.  The  Emperor,  with  a  benign  counten- 
ance, answered — 


VISIT   OF   THE   EMPEROR   OF   RUSSIA. 

"You  are  quite  right;  one  cannot  see  well  at  this 
hour.  I  will  return  to-morrow  after  mid-day." 

I  bowed,  and  the  carriages  drove  on.  This  stopping 
of  the  carriage  and  its  driving  on  again  after  a  few 
words  had  passed  between  his  Majesty  and  myself,  led 
some  ass  to  suppose  that  I  had  not  been  willing  to 
receive  the  Emperor,  and  some  malicious  person  re- 
peated the  little  story;  but  not  for  long,  as  the  next 
morning  he  returned  with  all  his  suite. 

As  soon  as  he  descended,  he  said  to  me — 

"  Vous  parlez  franfais  ?" 

"  Trh  mal,  Majeste" 

"Well,  I  speak  a  little  Italian ;  we  will  make  a  mixture." 

General  Menzicoff,  Count  Orloff,  and  others  whom  I 
do  not  remember,  accompanied  the  Emperor.  As  soon 
as  he  entered  the  studio  he  took  off  his  hat,  to  the  great 
astonishment  of  his  suite,  who  all  hastened  to  imitate 
him,  and  remained  with  his  head  uncovered  all  the  time 
he  was  there.  He  was  of  colossal  build,  and  perfectly 
proportioned.  The  Emperor  Nicholas  was  then  of  mature 
years,  but  he  looked  as  if  he  were  in  the  flower  of  man- 
hood. He  talked  and  listened  willingly,  and  tried  to 
enter  into  the  motives  and  conceptions  of  the  artist. 

Amongst  others  he  saw  a  sketch  of  Adam  and  Eve 
that  I  had  just  made  with  the  intention  of  representing 
the  first  family.  He  saw  it,  and  it  pleased  him.  He  said 
it  would  go  well  with  the  Cain  and  Abel;  and  from  these 
words,  one  might  have  taken  for  granted  that  he  had  or- 
dered it.  But  I  have  always  rather  held  back  and  been 
little  eager  for  commissions,  so  that  I  did  not  feel  myself 
empowered  to  execute  it.  Then,  also,  I  had  taken  this 
subject  for  my  simple  satisfaction,  and  certainly  with  the 
intention  of  making  it  in  the  large,  which  I  did  not, 
however,  carry  into  effect ;  for  if  I  had  done  so,  I  should 
probably  have  offered  it  to  him,  as  he  had  been  so  much 


THE  EMPEROR'S  CHARACTER.  175 

pleased  by  the  sketch.  The  Emperor  was  most  affable 
with  me,  and  showed  a  desire  to  know  something  about 
me  besides  my  studies  and  works  that  he  had  before  his 
eyes,  so  I  satisfied  his  wishes.  Nor  is  it  to  be  wondered 
at  that  so  important  a  person  as  he  was  should  inquire 
into  the  particulars  of  simple  home-life,  for  he  was  (so  I 
afterwards  heard)  a  good  husband  and  father.  He  ac- 
companied the  Empress  his  wife  to  Palermo,  as  her  ill 
health  made  it  necessary  for  her  to  be  in  that  mild 
climate,  perfumed  with  life-giving  odours.  He  married 
his  daughter  Maria  Nicolaiewna  to  the  Prince  of  Leuch- 
tenberg,  who  was  a  simple  officer  in  the  army;  but  as  he 
became  aware  that  the  young  people  loved  each  other, 
he  wished  to  procure  their  happiness.  A  good  husband 
and  a  good  father ;  pity  it  is  that  one  cannot  say  a  good 
sovereign  !  His  persecutions  and  cruelty  towards  Poland, 
especially  in  regard  to  her  religious  liberty,  and  even  her 
language,  which  is  the  principal  inheritance  of  a  nation, 
are  not  a  small  stain  on  that  patriarchal  figure. 

If  the  young  reader  has  the  good  habit  of  not  skipping, 
he  will  remember  perhaps  the  danger  I  ran  of  dying 
asphyxiated  in  my  little  studio  near  San  Simone  in  com- 
pany with  the  model,  whilst  I  was  making  the  sketch  for 
the  Abel.  Now  I  must  speak  of  another  grave  peril  that 
I  ran  of  certain  death,  had  it  not  been  that  Divine  Provi- 
dence sent  me  help  just  in  time.  It  was  the  iath  of 
April  1849  :  for  some  days  past  a  crowd  of  rough  and 
violent  Livornese  had  been  going  about  our  streets  with 
jeering  and  menacing  bearing;  and  insults,  violence,  and 
provocations  of  every  kind  had  not  been  wanting.  That 
day  a  squad  of  these  brutal  fellows,  after  having  eaten 
and  taken  a  good  deal  to  drink,  would  not  pay  their 
reckoning;  there  were  altercations  and  blows,  to  the 
damage  of  the  poor  man  who  kept  the  wine-shop ;  and 
as  if  that  were  not  enough,  there  were  other  gross  im- 


1/6  RIOT    IN    FLORENCE. 

proprieties.  This  happened  in  the  Camaldoli  of  San 
Lorenzo,  at  a  place  called  La  Cella,  where  the  population 
was  crowded  and  rude.  The  cup  was  overflowing,  and 
at  a  cry  of,  "  Give  it  to  them  !  give  it  to  them  ! "  they 
fell  upon  these  scoundrels ;  and  although  the  latter  were 
armed  with  swords  (being  of  the  Livornese  national 
guard)  and  stilettoes,  they  were  overwhelmed  by  the 
rush  of  the  populace,  disarmed,  and  killed. 

This  was  like  a  spark,  and  spread  like  lightning 
throughout  Florence.  There  was  a  great  tumult  and 
angry  cries  for  men  from  Leghorn.  Everything  served 
as  a  weapon ;  every  workman  ran  out  with  the  im- 
plements of  his  trade,  and  even  dishevelled  ragged 
women  ran  about  like  so  many  furies  with  cudgels, 
shovels,  and  tongs,  screaming,  "  Kill  them  !  kill  them  !  " 
There  were  many  victims.  The  soldiers  who  were  in 
the  Belvedere  fortress,  as  soon  as  they  heard  the  reports 
of  the  guns  and  the  cause  thereof,  came  down  from  there 
like  wild  beasts,  such  was  their  hatred  against  these 
people,  from  whom  they  had  received  every  kind  of 
insult,  even  to  finding  two  of  their  companions  nailed  to 
the  boards  of  their  barracks  one  day — acts  that  were  a 
dishonour  to  the  good  reputation  of  the  open-hearted 
Livornese,  with  their  free  mode  of  speech  and  quick  in- 
telligence. Timid  people  retired  and  shut  themselves 
up  in  their  houses,  the  shops  were  closed,  the  streets 
deserted,  and  one  saw  some  people  running  and  others 
pursuing  them,  as  dogs  hares;  reports  of  guns  were 
heard,  now  close  by  and  now  in  the  distance,  cries  for 
mercy,  the  drums  beating  the  generate,  and  the  mournful 
tolling  of  the  big  bell, — all  of  which  produced  a  fearful 
and  cruel  effect. 

I  lived  in  a  house  over  my  studio,  in  Via  Nazionale,  a 
short  distance  from  the  spot  from  which  came  the  fatal 


RIOT  IN   FLORENCE.  I// 

spark.  At  the  sound  of  the  beating  of  the  generals  I 
rushed  up  into  my  house  to  arm  myself,  to  run  to  join 
our  company.  My  colonel  was  the  Marchese  Gerini, 
and  the  captain  Carlo  Fenzi.  My  poor  wife !  I  see  her 
still  crying  and  supplicating  me  not  to  leave  her,  saying, 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? — to  kill  or  to  be  killed  ? 
Stay  here,  and  if  they  come  to  attack  us  in  the  house,  as 
they  said  they  would,  then  you  will  defend  these  poor 
little  ones."  I  yielded ;  but  Sarrocchi,  who  was  in  the 
house  with  me,  in  spite  of  his  father's  tears  and  prayers, 
would  go,  and  our  company  went  forward  and  protected 
these  Livornese  Guards  from  the  fury  of  the  populace  as 
far  as  the  station  of  Santa  Maria  Novella.  The  com- 
pany was  led  by  the  second  lieutenant,  Engineer  Renard. 
I  went  back  down  into  the  studio  and  tried  to  work,  but 
could  do  nothing.  That  constant  noise  of  running, 
questioning,  firing  of  guns,  the  beating  of  the  distant 
drums — a  dull  sound,  strange  and  fearful — had  so  irritated 
my  nerves  that  I  walked  up  and  down  the  studio,  taking 
up  a  book  and  putting  it  down  again.  At  last  I  resolved 
to  go  home  again,  all  the  more  so  that  I  had  left 
my  wife  feeling  anxious  and  every  moment  fearing  that 
something  might  happen  to  me.  I  had  my  studio  dress 
on,  which  consisted  of  a  linen  blouse  and  red  skull-cap. 
Just  as  I  was  going  out  I  heard  some  screams,  lamenta- 
tions, and  a  rush  of  people.  I  looked  out,  and  saw  a 
squad  of  furious  men  following  and  beating  with  sticks  a 
poor  Livornese,  who,  not  being  able  to  go  any  farther, 
fell  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  by  the  Gaffe  degli 
Artisti.  That  bloody  scene  made  me  ill;  and  com- 
pelled by  compassion  for  that  poor  young  fellow,  I  ran 
and  thrust  myself  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd  that  sur- 
rounded the  fallen  man.  He  was  wounded  in  the  head, 
and  bleeding  freely ;  one  eye  was  almost  put  out,  and 

M 


i;8  PERSONAL   DANGER. 

he  held  one  hand  up  in  supplication,  but  his  infuriated 
assailants  beat  at  him  as  if  they  had  been  threshing 
corn.  "  Let  him  alone  !  Stop  !  Good  heavens,  don't 
you  see  that  the  poor  young  fellow  is  dying  ?  "  They 
turned  and  looked  at  me.  "  What  does  he  say  ?  Who 
is  he  ?  "  asked  these  assassins.  "  He  is  a  Livornese  also," 
was  the  answer.  The  eagerness  I  had  shown  in  favour 
of  that  unfortunate  man,  the  red  skull-cap  that  I  wore  on 
my  head,  and  my  accent  not  being  that  of  a  vulgar  Flo- 
rentine, gave  strength  to  that  assertion.  From  the  dark 
look  in  their  eyes  and  their  sardonic  smiles  I  became 
aware  of  my  danger,  and  wished  to  speak;  but  these 
infuriated  beings  screamed  out,  "  Give  it  to  him !  give 
it  to  him,  for  he  is  also  a  Livornese ! "  I  felt  that 
I  was  lost.  A  blow,  aimed  at  my  head,  fell  on  my 
shoulder,  and  some  one  spat  in  my  face.  A  person, 
whose  name  I  do  not  recall,  an  ex-sergeant  and  drill- 
master  of  our  company,  arrived  in  time  to  save  me. 

"Stop!"  said  he — "stop!"  and  with  these  words  he 
interposed  and  warded  off  the  blows  aimed  at  me.  The 
words  and  resolute  action  of  this  man  in  sergeant's  uni- 
form carried  weight  with  them,  and  to  put  an  end  to  all 
this  excitement  he  shouted  out,  "  I  bear  witness,  on  my 
honour,  that  this  is  the  Professor  Dupre,  sculptor,  cor- 
poral in  our  company,  and  not  at  all  a  Livornese." 

The  crowd  had  thickened  more  and  more,  and  in  it 
there  were  some  who  knew  me  and  echoed  the  words  of 
this  courageous  and  spirited  man,  so  that  I  was  saved. 
In  the  meantime  my  scholars,  Enrico  Pazzi  and  Luigi 
Majoli,  armed  with  long  iron  compasses,  had  rushed  to  my 
succour ;  and  it  was  fortunate  that  they  were  no  longer 
needed,  as,  being  young  and  brave-spirited,  and  Ro- 
magnoli,  with  these  weapons  in  their  hands,  who  knows 
what  might  have  been  the  consequence? 


CHAPTER    X. 


MY  WIFE,  MY  LITTLE  GIRLS,  AND  MY  WORK  —  DEATH  OF  MY  BROTHER  LO- 
RENZO—DEATH OF  LORENZO  BARTOLINI— THE  BASE  FOR  THE  "  TAZZA  " — 
EIGHT  YEARS  OF  WORK,  ONLY  TO  OBTAIN  A  LIVING — MUSSINI  AND  HIS 
SCHOOL — POLLASTRINI — THE  SCHOOL  IN  VIA  SANT*  APOLLINI — PRINCE 
DEMIDOFF  AND  THE  MONUMENT  BY  BARTOLINI — THE  NYMPH  OF  THE 
SCORPION  AND  THE  NYMPH  OF  THE  SERPENT,  BY  BARTOLINI  —  MARCHESE 
ABA  —  COUNT  ARESE  —  THE  FOUR  STATUETTES  FOR  DEMIDOFF  —  AMERIGO 
OF  THE  PRINCE  CORSINIS  —  HIS  ROYAL  HIGHNESS  COUNT  OF  SYRACUSE,  A 
SCULPTOR — "SANT1  ANTONINO"  STATUE  AT  THE  UFFIZI. 


HE  events  of  that  day  already  belong  to  his- 
tory, and  it  is  not  for  me  to  narrate  them. 
Those  of  the  Livornese  who  could  escape 
from  the  fury  of  the  populace  were  part  of 
them  shut  up  in  the  Fortress  da  Basso,  and  part  of  them 
packed  like  anchovies  in  the  railway-carriages.  Guerazzi 
was  imprisoned  in  the  fortress  of  the  Belvedere,  and  the 
reins  of  the  government  were  provisionally  put  into  the 
hands  of  the  Municipality,  Ubaldino  Peruzzi  being  gon- 
faloniere.  That  same  evening  the  ensigns  of  liberty  that 
the  republicans  had  hoisted  in  the  piazze  and  the  street- 
crossings  in  Florence,  were  torn  to  the  ground.  Thus 
ended  the  enormities  of  these  so-called  democrats,  who 
were  in  fact  only  the  scum  and  unrestrained  rabble  of  the 
flourishing  and  active  city  of  Leghorn. 

In  the  meantime  affairs  in  my  studio  went  from  bad 
to  worse.  The  political  vicissitudes,  the  uncertainty  of 
the  present,  and  fears  for  the  future,  preoccupied  every 


180       THE  GRAND  DUKE  RETURNS. 

one,  and  no  thought  was  given  to  the  Arts.  I  had  no 
work  to  do,  and  lived  a  secluded  life  of  poverty  with  my 
little  family,  fearing  that  the  apprehensions  of  my  poor 
wife  would  be  realised :  often  we  were  in  need  even  of 
the  mere  necessaries  of  life,  and  one  thing  after  another 
went  to  the  monte  di  pieta  in  order  to  supply  our  most 
pressing  wants.  Sorrows,  disillusions,  and  mortifications 
were  not  wanting  :  one  of  my  children  died,  the  only 
boy  that  I  ever  had  ;  the  statue  of  Pope  Pius  II.  that  I 
had  made  for  Siena  was  despised  and  kept  shut  up  in  its 
box  for  month  after  month,  the  aversion  taken  to  it  being, 
they  said,  occasioned  by  the  disaffection  of  Pius  IX. 
What  Pius  II.  had  to  do  with  Pius  IX.  I  do  not  know. 

The  Grand  Duke  returned ;  but  the  joy  felt  for  his 
return  was  embittered  by  the  presence  of  foreigners,  and 
thence  there  were  fears,  suspicions,  and  ill-repressed  rage, 
so  that  Art  suffered  in  consequence — Art,  that  lives  and 
breathes  in  the  quiet  and  life-giving  atmosphere  of 
peace. 

The  Grand  Duke  having  returned,  I  went  to  make 
my  bow  to  him.  He  received  me  with  his  usual  kind- 
ness, and  asked  me  about  my  works  and  my  family. 
I  spoke  out  sincerely  to  him,  touching  lightly,  not  to  dis- 
tress him,  on  my  misfortunes.  He  remained  thoughtful, 
and  dismissed  me  with  benevolence.  Some  days  after, 
he  sent  his  secretary  Luigi  Venturi  for  me,  and  talked  at 
length  with  me  about  works  that  he  was  thinking  of 
giving  me.  In  the  meanwhile,  remembering  that  in  times 
gone  by  I  had  occupied  myself  with  wood-carving,  he 
asked  me  if  I  could  make  or  direct  some  work  that  he 
was  thinking  of  having  executed  for  a  present  he  wished 
to  make  to  his  daughter  Princess  Isabella,  who  was  to 
be  married  to  Prince  Francesco  of  Naples.  Already, 
before  Isabella,  his  eldest  daughter,  the  Princess  Augusta, 


DESIGN  OF  A  CASKET  FOR  THE  GRAND  DUKE.     l8l 

to  whom  he  had  given  my  two  little  statuettes  of  Dante 
and  Beatrice,  had  been  married.  The  work  for  the 
Princess  Isabella  was,  however,  of  an  entirely  different 
kind,  being  a  casket  for  jewels.  I  accepted  this  com- 
mission with  gratitude,  although  it  was  not  a  real  work 
of  sculpture ;  but  remembering  that  our  old  artists  had 
executed  works  of  the  same  kind,  and  that  Baccio  d'Ag- 
nolo,  a  famous  architect,  used  to  make  the  cassone  that 
contained  the  trousseau  of  the  young  Florentine  brides, 
and  gloried  in  signing  himself  Baccio  d'Agnolo,  carpen- 
ter, I  was  contented.  And  besides,  to  speak  my  mind 
clearly,  it  is  not  the  material  or  the  thing  itself  that 
counts  for  anything.  A  little  terra  cotla  of  Luca  della 
Robbia,  or  an  intaglio  of  Barili,  is  worth  more  than  a 
hundred  thousand  wretched  statues  in  marble  or  bronze. 
I  therefore  made  and  showed  him  the  design  for  the 
casket.  In  shape  it  was  rectangular,  and  stood  on  two 
squares,  ornamented  on  all  sides ;  the  cover  was  slightly 
elevated,  and  on  the  top  was  a  group  of  three  figures 
representing  maternal  love ;  in  the  six  spaces  were  six 
subjects  taken  from  the  Bible  representing  holy  marriages. 
These,  I  thought,  were  real  jewels — family  jewels.  They 
came  in  order  as  follows :  Adam  and  Eve  in  the 
terrestrial  paradise  before  the  Fall,  Isaac  and  Re- 
becca, Boaz  and  Ruth,  Esther  and  Ahasuerus,  Tobit 
and  Sarah,  David  and  Abigail.  The  Grand  Duke 
liked  the  idea  and  the  design,  and  asked  me  in  what 
wood  I  should  carve  it.  I  answered,  in  ivory,  for  two 
reasons  :  on  account  of  the  smallness  of  the  figures, 
which  would  not  admit  of  another  material ;  and  then 
because  ivory  is  in  itself  beautiful,  rich,  and  most  adapted 
for  this  kind  of  work.  Fortunately,  it  was  not  necessary 
to  look  for  the  ivory,  as  in  the  Grand  Duke's  laboratory 
there  was  a  most  beautiful  elephant's  tusk.  He  gave  it  to 


1 82  I   AM   DISPIRITED. 

me ;  and  after  having  cut  it  up  into  as  many  pieces  for 
ihefvrmetie,  cornice,  and  lamine  as  were  required  for  this 
work,  there  remained  a  large  piece,  which  I  still  keep. 
I  set  myself  to  the  task,  and  worked  with  a  will,  as  the 
marriage  of  the  Princess  was  soon  to  take  place.  In 
the  construction  of  the  square  I  employed  a  man  from 
the  cabinetmaker's,  Ciacchi ;  for  the  ornaments,  Paolino 
Fanfani,  a  clever  wood-carver  and  my  good  friend,  whom 
I  had  known  when  a  boy  in  Sani's  shop,  where  I  used  to 
work  at  wood-carving.  Two  poems  by  Luigi  Venturi, 
"  Lo  sposo,  la  sposa  e  gli  sposi,"  which  form  part  of  his 
poem  "  L'Uomo,"  were  placed  inside  of  the  box. 

And  here  I  am  at  work.  Consider,  friendly  reader, 
if  you  are  an  artist,  and  after  long  study  and  anxiety 
have  ever  obtained  the  hoped-for  compensations  and 
triumphs,  the  more  deserved  because  so  earnestly  la- 
boured for,  that  you  now  see  an  artist  occupied,  on  a 
work  difficult  indeed,  but  very  far  from  being  of  that 
ideal  greatness  that  his  hopes  and  the  applause  previously 
given  him  have  led  him  to  anticipate  and  desire.  The 
smallness  of  the  work,  the  material,  and  even  the 
tools  for  working  it,  reminded  me  of  the  humbleness 
of  my  origin.  I  felt  sick  at  heart,  and  then  flashed 
into  my  mind  the  fear  that  I  might  be  obliged  to  return 
to  wood-carving.  Not  that  I  despised  that  art — I  have 
already  said  the  material  is  of  no  account;  but  I 
wanted  to  be  a  sculptor,  and  meantime  I  had  nothing 
to  do,  and  my  family  looked  to  me  for  support.  This 
thought  gave  me  strength,  drove  away  the  golden  dreams 
of  the  future,  even  the  memory  of  the  smiling  past,  and 
I  worked  all  day  long  and  part  of  the  night.  My  poor 
wife,  who  was  always  so  good  and  active,  attending  to 
the  household  economy  and  to  the  education  of  our 
little  girls,  comforted  me  with  her  simple  and  affectionate 


FAMILY  DIFFICULTIES.  183 

words.  Sometimes,  returning  home  with  the  children, 
she  would  stop  to  see  me,  and  would  look  at  and  praise 
my  work,  and  perhaps,  because  it  reminded  her  of  our 
early  years,  would  say — 

"Beautiful  this  work,  is  it  not,  Nanni?" 

"Yes;  do  you  like  it?" 

"Yes." 

But  in  this  exchange  of  loving  words  there  was  a 
certain  sadness,  and  although  it  did  not  appear  on  the 
surface,  yet  the  ear  and  eye  of  him  who  loves  hears 
and  sees  what  is  hidden  below.  We  remained  silent, 
and  she,  taking  the  little  girls  by  the  hand,  said  good-bye 
to  me,  and  I  was  deeply  moved,  and  resumed  my  work. 

Added  to  all  this,  we  were  preoccupied  about  my 
sister,  who  would  not  remain  any  longer  in  the  Con- 
servatorio  of  Monticelli,  and  could  not  return  to  my 
house  on  account  of  incompatibility  of  temper  between 
her  and  my  mother-in-law.  At  last  I  arranged  that  she 
should  be  with  my  father ;  and  this  proved  satisfactory, 
as  he  thus  had  some  one  to  look  after  his  house,  and 
she  some  one  to  lean  upon.  As  soon,  however,  as  this 
was  settled,  we  had  other  troubles,  and  of  a  graver  kind — 
my  brother's  illness.  Already  for  some  time  past,  after 
the  work  in  the  studio  had  fallen  off,  the  maintenance  of 
this  brother  had  been  a  serious  thing  to  me ;  but  with  a 
little  sacrifice  and  a  little  goodwill,  this  difficulty  had 
been  got  over,  and  the  hope  of  better  days  kept  up 
the  courage  in  both  of  us.  But  he  constantly  grew 
worse,  and  we  had  no  hope  of  his  recovery.  In  his  wan- 
derings he  always  spoke  about  me  and  my  works,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  his  mind  at  times  was  clearer  and  more 
active.  Perhaps  this  is  so  because  the  soul  feels  the  day 
of  its  freedom  approaching,  and  is  breaking  the  chains 
which  bind  it  to  the  body,  and  drawing  nearer  to  its 


184  DEATH   OF   BARTOLINI. 

immortal  life.  We  say  that  it  is  wandering,  because  we 
do  not  understand  it ;  the  veil  of  the  flesh  obscures  our 
spiritual  vision,  and  we  cannot  comprehend  the  mean- 
ing of  the  strange  and  mysterious  words  we  use.  Hav- 
ing partaken  of  the  blessed  Sacrament,  he  expired,  at 
peace  with  God,  in  the  first  days  of  January  1850.  My 
poor  brother  !  poor  Lorenzo !  strong  and  handsome  of 
person  ;  open  and  gay  of  nature,  and  generous-hearted ; 
loving  work  and  not  minding  fatigue,  with  a  frank  sincere 
smile  that  often  came  to  soften  the  sharpness  of  his  words. 
In  those  days  a  man  of  high  intellect  and  great  spirit, 
burning  with  a  love  for  all  that  was  truly  beautiful, 
also  left  us.  Lorenzo  Bartolini  died,  after  a  few  days' 
illness,  of  congestion  of  the  brain,  not  young  in  years, 
but  always  very  young  in  his  affections  and  inspirations. 
Some  moments  before  he  was  overtaken  by  illness,  he 
was  working  on  the  marble  with  the  energy  and  pre- 
cision of  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life.  Whatever  was 
the  cause,  he  was  taken  ill,  and  neither  the  efforts  of 
science,  nor  the  love  of  his  family,  nor  the  interest  and 
concern  of  every  one,  was  able  to  save  him.  He  was 
universally  lamented,  even  by  those  who  disliked  him ; 
for  genius,  though  at  first  it  may  irritate  the  weak,  in  the 
long-run  commands  admiration  and  love. 

His  works  remain  as  an  example  of  the  beautiful  in 
nature,  which  is  the  mainspring  of  Art.  In  the  foregoing 
pages  I  have  already  touched  on  his  character  as  a  man. 
I  have  also  mentioned  the  reasons  why  he  kept  me  at  a 
distance ;  and  now  it  is  pleasant  for  me  to  remember 
that  some  time  before  his  death  he  became  reconciled 
to  me,  and  the  reconciliation  took  place  in  a  most 
singular  and  casual  way.  One  evening  at  Fenzi's 
house,  after  dinner,  we  were  all  assembled  in  the  billiard- 
room  playing  pool :  there  were  also  some  ladies,  who 


ANECDOTE   OF   BARTOLINI.  185 

were  not  kept  away  by  the  cigar-smoke.  Bartolini  came 
in ;  and  Carlino  Fenzi,  as  soon  as  he  saw  him,  went 
forward  to  meet  him,  and  said — 

"Good  evening,  Professor." 

"  Accidenti  to  all  Professors  !  " 

"What  kind  of  a  speech  is  this?  Have  I  offended 
you?" 

"  Offence  or  no  offence  !  I  have  said  actidenti,  and 
...  if  you  don't  know  anything,  go  and  learn ; "  and 
with  this  he  passed  into  the  other  rooms.  Carlino  stood 
there  as  if  he  had  been  made  of  stucco,  and  turning  to 
me  said — 

"But  what  stuff  is  this?  Do  you  understand  any- 
thing about  it  ?  " 

"  Dear  Carlino,"  I  answered,  "  I  understand  it  all,  and 
will  tell  you  at  once.  Bartolini  does  not  wish  to  be 
called  Professor." 

"  What !  but  is  he  not  Professor  Bartolini?  " 

"  That  he  is, — a  Professor,  and  one  of  the  most  able, 
and  perhaps  the  oldest  of  them  all ;  but  he  has  a  dislike  to 
be  called  so,  because  he  says  all  Professors  are  asses. " 

"  This  may  be,  and  may  not  be,"  replied  Carlino, 
"  but  I  knew  nothing  about  it ;  and  besides,  how  does  he 
wish  to  be  called  ?  A  Cavaliere  ?  It  seems  better  to  me 
to  be  an  honourable  Professor  than  a  Cavaliere." 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow,  not  even  a  Cavaliere,  although 
he  does  not  at  all  dislike  being  one,  as  you  see  he  wears 
the  ribbon  of  his  order  constantly  in  his  button-hole." 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  He  wishes  to  be  called  master,"  I  answered. 

"  Dear,  dear  !  oh,  this  is  beautiful !  And  I,  who  knew 
nothing  about  it,  what  fault  is  it  of  mine?  Does  it 
seem  to  you  proper  or  well-bred  to  come  out  with  that 
word  before  everybody,  even  before  ladies?  To  me  it 


1 86  I   REPROVE   BARTOLINI. 

seems  not  only  not  like  a  master,  but  not  even  like  a 
schoolboy." 

"  Have  patience,  Carlino,  and  don't  let  us  talk  any 
more  about  it :  bury  it  under  a  stone,  and  leave  it  alone. 
Listen  !  they  are  calling  out  your  number ; "  and  so  the 
matter  ended. 

The  day  after,  I  had  a  model,  Tonino  Liverani,  called 
Tria — a  beautiful  model,  and  Bartolini's  favourite  one, 
the  same  from  whom  he  modelled  when  making  his  group 
of  the  Astyanax.  Half  an  hour  before  mid-day  he  said 
to  me — 

"  Signer  Giovanni,  would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  send 
me  away  a  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier  to-day  ?  I  must 
be  at  the  maestro* s  at  twelve  o'clock. 

I  replied,  "Certainly — of  course;  dress  yourself  at  once 
and  go ;  do  not  keep  him  waiting." 

Whilst  Tria  was  dressing,  I  thought  over  the  accidente 
or  the  accidenti  on  the  previous  evening,  and  if  that 
horrid  word  did  not  go  down  with  Carlino  because  it 
was  said  at  his  house,  neither  did  it  please  me,  for  in 
my  quality  of  Professor  it  wounded  me  more  than  it  did 
him.  But,  in  fact,  joking  apart,  I  was  really  grieved  to 
see  such  a  great  man  descend  without  any  cause  to  the 
use  of  such  puerile  and  unbecoming  expressions,  the 
more  so  that  he  was  made  an  object  of  ridicule  because 
Carlino  took  the  matter  seriously.  I  said  to  myself, 
Shall  I  send  him  a  message  or  let  it  go  ?  If  I  let  it  go, 
he  will  think  that  I  am  afraid  to  say  what  I  feel,  or  that 
I  am  so  weak-minded  as  to  think  that  sally  of  his  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world  :  in  the  one  case,  as  in 
the  other,  I  shall  cut  a  bad  figure,  and  Bartolini  despises 
men  who  are  afraid  or  stupid.  Then,  too,  who  knows 
if  a  frank  sincere  word,  spoken  at  any  rate  with  re- 
spect and  reason,  such  as  I  should  say,  would  not 


BASE   OF   TABLE   OF   THE   MUSES.  187 

do  him  good?  All  depends  on  Tonino's  reporting  it 
straight. 

"  Have  you  any  orders,  Sor  Giovanni  ?  When  shall  I 
return  ?  "  said  Tonino. 

"  Listen,  Tonino ;  you  must  do  me  the  kindness  to 
say  to  the  maestro,  that  last  night  he  let  fall  from  his 
mouth  a  word  that  displeased  me,  because  those  who 
heard  it  did  not  know  why  he  used  it,  and  having  heard 
his  reason  did  not  appreciate  it.  Take  care  !  not  a  word 
more  or  less,  and  don't  make  a  mistake." 

And  having  gone  over  his  lesson  two  or  three  times, 
he  repeated  it  quite  right. 

"  You  will  return  to-morrow  morning  at  nine  o'clock 
if  Bartolini  will  let  you,  and  then  you  will  give  me  his 
answer." 

The  day  after,  at  nine,  Tria  appeared  and  said  to  me — 

"  I  told  the  maestro,  you  know." 

"Well,  what  did  he  answer?" 

"  He  replied  in  these  words  :  '  You  must  say  to  Dupre 
that  I  thank  him.  I  also  was  aware  that  I  had  done 
wrong,  but  it  was  too  late.  Salute  him.' " 

Some  evenings  afterwards  I  saw  him  again  at  Fenzi's 
house  :  I  was  playing  billiards.  He  shook  my  hand  and 
said  "  Good  evening,"  a  thing  he  had  not  done  for  a  long 
time. 

After  the  little  ivory  casket  that  I  have  already  spoken 
of,  the  Grand  Duke  ordered  me  to  compose  a  base  for 
the  famous  Table  of  the  Muses  in  pietra  dura  that  is  in 
the  Palazzo  Pitti.  This  work  made  me  happier,  as  I  was 
free  to  imagine  and  execute  it  in  the  manner  I  thought 
best,  and  a  rich  and  elaborate  subject  occurred  to  me 
at  once.  The  Table  of  the  Muses  is  round ;  in  the 
centre  is  Apollo  driving  the  chariot  of  the  sun,  and  en- 
circling him  are  the  attributes  of  the  Muses.  As  the 


1 88  DESCRIPTION   OF   MY   DESIGN. 

artist  who  made  the  top  of  the  table  had  taken  for  his 
subject  Apollo  as  the  father  of  the  Muses,  I  in  my  work 
gave  to  him  the  attributes  of  the  sun,  as  fertiliser  of  the 
earth.  In  the  base  immediately  under  the  table,  I  pre- 
served its  circular  form,  throwing  out  at  the  top  a  sort  of 
capital  supported  by  jutting  brackets,  and  richly  orna- 
mented. Beneath  this  is  a  cylinder  covered  with  figures 
of  children  (putte)  engaged  in  the  rural  occupations  and 
pleasures  of  the  various  seasons.  In  the  spring  they  are 
sporting,  and  playing  on  instruments,  and  dancing  among 
flowers  ;  in  the  summer  they  are  cutting  and  bringing  in 
the  corn ;  in  the  autumn  they  are  harvesting  and  treading 
grapes;  in  the  winter  they  are  digging,  hoeing,  and 
sowing.  This  cylinder  thus  storied  over  is  set  upon  a 
large  disc  with  mouldings  and  bevelled  slope,  upon  which 
the  Seasons  are  seated,  in  varied  attitudes,  and  weaving  a 
garland  of  the  flowers  and  fruits  which  the  earth  produces 
during  the  year.  Spring  is  peacefully  sitting,  lightly 
draped,  crowned  with  daisies,  and  holding  her  head 
somewhat  elevated,  to  express  the  reawakening  of  Nature. 
Summer  has  her  torso  nude,  is  crowned  with  ears  of  corn, 
and  is  more  robust  of  form  than  the  others.  Autumn  is 
crowned  with  grapes  and  vine-leaves,  entirely  dressed, 
but  without  a  mantle.  Winter  is  crouching  down,  press- 
ing her  knees  together,  is  entirely  enveloped  in  her  mantle, 
has  a  cloth  on  her  head,  and  is  expressive  of  cold.  The 
garland  which  unites  the  figures  is  hidden  behind  Winter, 
is  more  slender,  and  composed  solely  of  fruits.  Each  of 
these  four  figures  seated  upon  the  disc  stretches  forth 
a  foot  upon  a  projecting  ledge  or  bracket,  which  is 
in  plumb  beneath  the  upper  brackets,  which  support  the 
capital;  and  these  four  lower  brackets,  making  part  of  the 
disc  and  jutting  forth  from  it,  form  the  base  and  foot  of 
the  entire  column.  In  the  spaces  between  the  figures 


IN   BETTER   SPIRITS.  1 89 

on  the  upper  bevelled  slope  of  the  disc,  ornaments  with 
the  attributes  of  the  elements  are  carved — for  the  earth 
a  growth  of  acanthus-leaves,  for  the  water  a  dolphin,  for 
the  air  an  eagle,  for  the  fire  a  vase  with  flames.  Full  of 
goodwill,  I  put  my  hand  to  the  work  with  new  hopeful- 
ness. I  remember  those  days  of  a  new  awakening 
within  me  of  interest  in  my  art,  and  trust  in  Providence 
for  the  support  of  my  little  family,  which  had  been  in- 
creased by  the  birth  of  Luisina,  dear  little  angel,  whom 
God  took  to  Himself  again,  now  some' four  years  ago.  In 
going  from  us,  she  left  behind  her  the  memory  of  her  rare 
virtues,  that  softens  the  bitterness  of  our  great  loss.  My 
poor  little  angel,  pray  for  us.  My  eyes  are  dim  with 
tears,  but  I  feel  how  true  it  is  that  sorrow  only  rekindles 
the  light  of  faith. 

I  worked  with  true  enthusiasm,  getting  up  at  an  early 
hour,  and  after  a  slight  breakfast  with  my  family,  going 
down  into  the  studio,  which  was  almost  under  my  own 
room.  I  kept  note  of  all  my  expenses,  to  have  some  idea 
of  the  price  I  should  ask  for  my  model,  as  it  was  his 
Highness's  intention  to  have  it  cast  in  bronze.  I  was 
very  light-hearted,  as  I  have  already  said ;  and  the  prin- 
cipal reason  for  my  being  so  was,  that  I  saw  by  means  of 
this  work  the  bread  for  my  family  was  provided  for.  I 
had  not  put  aside  a  soldo,  and  the  various  works  I  had 
made  during  eight  years — that  is  to  say,  from  '42  10*50 — 
had  yielded  me  barely  enough  to  live  upon,  because  the 
inevitable  expenses  of  housekeeping  had  absorbed  all  the 
little  I  had  beyond.  I  lived  day  by  day,  hoping  always  that 
fortune  would  smile  upon  me  as  in  my  early  years;  and  now 
with  this  work  of  the  pedestal  for  the  table,  I  felt  at  ease. 

I  have  thought  it  opportune  to  enter  into  these  minute 
particulars,  that  the  young  artist  may  learn  two  things 
from  them :  first,  not  to  give  himself  up  with  too  much 


1 90  MUSSINl'S  WORKS. 

assurance  to  the  joys  of  early  triumphs ;  and  secondly, 
not  to  get  discouraged  in  the  bitter  days  of  want  and 
disillusions,  when  he  feels  himself  forsaken.  I  know  so 
many  young  men  who  become  dejected  at  once,  and 
inveigh  against  adverse  fortune,  against  the  injustice  of 
men  and  their  neglect,  and  other  phrases  equally  idle, 
proud,  and  foolish. 

My  studio  was  no  longer  what  it  used  to  be  at  one 
time — no  longer  the  place  of  rendezvous  of  applauding 
friends  and  admirers  who  followed  the  fashion  of  the 
moment ;  these  all  went  about  their  own  affairs,  and  had 
nothing  more  to  do  with  me.  Some  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished amongst  them,  after  the  Restoration,  were 
refugees,  some  in  one  place,  some  in  another.  Venturi 
was  the  only  one  who  remained,  and  he  came  often  to  see 
me,  and  we  talked  at  length  about  Art.  Ciseri  also  was  a 
good  and  faithful  friend,  and  used  to  come  to  take  me  for 
a  long  walk  in  the  evening.  Mussini,  whom  I  had  known 
a  short  time  before,  first  left  for  Paris,  and  then  returned 
to  go  to  Siena  as  Director  of  the  Institute  of  Fine  Arts 
there,  where  he  still  teaches,  and  from  his  admirable 
school  have  come  such  famous  artists  as  Cassioli,  Franchi, 
Maccari,  and  Visconti,  who  died  a  miserable  death  from 
drowning  at  Rome. 

I  knew  Mussini  in  1844,  when  he  had  finished  his 
four  years  of  pensionat,  and  was  on  his  return  from 
Rome.  Mussini  was  then  a  remarkable  young  artist, 
having  gone  through  a  varied  and  severe  course  of 
study.  His  compositions  were  serious  and  careful,  and 
as  a  draughtsman  he  followed  the  style  of  our  Florentine 
school  of  the  quattrocento.  Those  qualities  he  showed 
in  his  first  pictures,  the  Expulsion  of  the  Profaners 
of  the  Temple,  Sacred  Music,  and  the  Allegory  of 
Almsgiving.  In  his  last  sketch,  which  he  made  in 


MUSSINl'S   CHARACTER  AND   FORTUNES.       IQI 

Rome,  Abelard  and  Heloi'se,  he  changed  a  little 
from  his  first  manner,  or  I  should  better  say  from  his 
first  method :  in  the  "  Abelard  "  he  followed  the  modern 
German  school — Overbeck  perhaps.  As  soon  as  he 
had  returned  to  Florence  he  set  to  work  on  his  Tri- 
umph of  Truth,  abandoning  his  first  views,  enlarging 
his  style,  freshening  his  colouring,  and  taking  his  in- 
spiration from  Leonardo  and  Raphael.  We  became 
friends.  He  was  rather  a  small  thin  young  man,  with 
black  hair,  black  eyes,  and  olive  complexion.  In  his 
conversation  he  was  vivacious,  sententious,  and  decided ; 
an  admirer  of  Phidias  and  Giotto  above  all  others ;  also 
of  Raphael,  Michael  Angelo,  and,  in  modern  times,  of 
Ingres  and  Bartolini.  His  companionship  and  friend- 
ship were  of  great  use  to  me  on  account  of  his  frank  and 
sound  advice  on  Art.  He  went  for  some  time  to  Paris, 
and  returned,  as  I  have  already  said,  to  occupy  the  place 
of  Director  of  the  Institute  of  Fine  Arts  at  Siena — a 
post  that  he  had  begged  me  to  ask  for  in  his  name ;  and 
in  this  way  I  lost  the  friendship  of  Enrico  Pollastrini, 
who  had  asked  for  it  for  himself.  As  soon  as  I  heard 
that  the  post  was  vacant  by  the  death  of  Menci,  I  ad- 
vised Mussini  by  letter  to  apply  for  it.  He  answered 
me  at  once,  thanking  me  for  my  advice,  but  adding 
that  at  present  he  did  not  wish  to  leave  Paris.  Two 
days  after,  in  another  letter  he  told  me  he  had 
changed  his  mind,  and  begged  me,  as  I  have  said,  to 
make  an  application  in  his  name.  Pollastrini,  who 
knew  neither  of  my  advice  and  counsel  to  Mussini 
nor  of  my  having  asked  for  the  post  for  him,  came  to 
see  me,  to  get  me  to  promise  that  I  would  support 
him  in  his  demands  for  the  place.  Poor  Enrico ! 
he  died  but  a  few  months  ago.  He  was  an  excellent 
man,  affectionate,  and  ready  to  serve  a  friend,  but  mis- 


192  MUSSINl'S   PRINCIPLES   IN   ART. 

trustful  and  irascible.  He  would  take  offence  at  a  mere 
nothing,  and  once  in  that  vein,  he  was  capable  of 
not  bowing  to  you  for  some  time.  I  did  not  like 
him  the  less  for  all  this.  He  never  did  any  harm 
to  anybody;  and  I  believe  he  would  not  have  killed 
even  a  fly,  much  less  have  been  of  injury  to  any  one. 
May  God  give  his  soul  peace !  He  came,  there- 
fore, to  see  me  and  get  me  to  pledge  myself  in  his 
favour;  and  when  he  heard  that  I  had  recommended 
the  nomination  of  Mussini — for  by  my  petition  it  was 
to  be  understood  that  I  supported  him — he  was  annoyed, 
and  did  not  hide  his  resentment,  saying  that  he  should 
not  have  expected  me  to  show  this  preference,  or  to 
put  another  before  him.  I  answered  that  I  knew  no- 
thing about  his  having  asked  for  the  nomination,  and 
that  what  I  had  done  had  been  from  a  desire  that  a 
clever  artist,  and  one  so  able  to  teach,  should  not  re- 
main in  a  foreign  land.  These  reasons,  instead  of  bring- 
ing persuasion  to  him,  only  embittered  him  the  more, 
and  he  was  angry  with  me  for  a  long  time.  But  below 
the  surface  poor  Enrico  cared  for  me,  and  has  shown 
it  in  a  thousand  ways. 

I  have  said  that  Mussini  was  a  master  of  sound  and 
true  principles  in  Art ;  and  so  he  is  still,  for  his  school 
at  Siena  has  produced,  and  produces,  excellent  results. 
Beyond  these  principles,  he  had  the  power  of  com- 
municating and  exemplifying  them  to  others,  and  this 
is  a  most  important  and  invaluable  faculty  in  a  teacher. 
Before  he  left  for  Paris,  he  kept  a  school  in  Via  Sant' 
Apollonia,  where,  amongst  other  scholars,  I  remember 
a  certain  Pelosi  di  Lucca,  Gordigiani,  and  Norfini,  now 
painters  of  repute.  He  begged  me  to  take  the  direction 
of  his  school,  and  I  accepted,  not  without  observing  to 
him  that  I  had  not  the  necessary  qualities  for  that  place  ; 


GORDIGIANI'S  TALENT  FOR  SCULPTURE.      193 

but  he  insisted,  and  I  yielded.  Things,  however,  went 
as  it  was  natural  they  should  go;  the  school  lingered 
on  awhile,  and  after  a  few  months  was  broken  up. 

As  it  seemed  to  me,  from  his  drawing,  that  Gordigiani 
had  talent  for  sculpture,  I  advised  him  to  give  himself 
up  to  that  art,  and  he  readily  came  to  my  studio  and 
began  to  model  with  goodwill.  But,  either  because 
the  material  he  had  to  handle  was  difficult  to  man- 
age on  account  of  its  novelty,  or  because  impatience 
got  the  better  of  him,  one  fine  day  he  threw  his  tools 
and  work  to  the  ground,  and  would  have  nothing  more 
to  say  to  them.  He  gave  himself  up  to  painting  por- 
traits, and  succeeded  so  well  that  he  has  now  become 
the  portrait-painter  most  praised  amongst  us,  and  has 
made  for  himself  a  really  enviable  position.  Neverthe- 
less, I  believe  that  if  he  had  had  a  little  constancy,  he 
would  have  succeeded  as  well  in  sculpture  as  in  painting, 
because  few  understand  as  well  as  he  does  the  form  and 
relation  of  planes. 

At  this  time  I  had  a  commission  to  finish  in  marble 
two  statues  by  Bartolini  that  he  had  left  unfinished; 
the  "Nymph  and  the  Scorpion"  for  the  Emperor  of 
Russia,  and  the  "Nymph  and  the  Serpent"  for  the 
Marchese  Ala-Ponzoni  of  Milan.  With  regard  to  this 
there  were  certain  ill-natured  reports  against  me  that 
I  think  best  to  clear  up.  Some  time  before,  Prince 
Demidoff  had  engaged  and  even  begged  of  rne  to  finish 
some  of  the  figures  of  the  great  monument  to  his  father 
that  Bartolini  had  left  incomplete.  I  would  not  accept 
this  commission,  because  the  master  had  worked  on 
them  a  great  deal  himself,  and  it  seemed  to  me  irrev- 
erent, and  not  a  thing  to  be  done,  to  continue  and  finish 
his  work.  I  endeavoured  to  make  the  Prince  under- 
stand that  as  Bartolini  had  worked  upon  it  himself,  and 

N 


194      I  REFUSE  TO  FINISH  BARTOLINl'S  STATUES. 

the  work  was  so  well  advanced,  it  had  more  value  left  as 
it  was  than  if  it  were  finished  by  my  hand,  be  it  even 
with  all  the  love  of  an  artist.  The  Prince  did  not 
appear  to  be  much  persuaded  by  this  reasoning,  and 
insisted,  saying  that  my  principles  in  art  were  the  same 
as  those  taught  by  Bartolini,  and  the  veneration  felt  by 
me  for  him  was  a  pledge  of  the  love  I  would  employ  in 
finishing  these  figures.  I  thanked  the  Prince  for  the  too 
great  confidence  he  placed  in  me  as  an  artist,  but  I 
begged  of  him  not  to  insist  in  carrying  out  this  idea  of 
having  the  work  finished,  either  by  me  or  by  any  other 
— for  he,  in  order  to  force  me  to  accept,  said  that 
otherwise  he  should  give  it  to  some  one  else,  and  added 
(exaggerating  out  of  kindness  my  worth  in  art)  that  it 
would  be  my  fault  if  it  chanced  that  the  artist  was  not 
fully  equal  to  the  arduous  enterprise.  I  answered  that 
I  thought  other  artists  abler  than  myself,  but  was  of 
opinion  that  the  statues  ought  to  be  left  as  they  were. 
In  order  to  convince  him,  I  reminded  him,  as  an  example 
to  the  purpose,  of  the  Medici  monuments  in  San  Lo- 
renzo, before  which  no  one  would  dare  to  say,  "  What  a 
pity  these  figures  are  not  finished  ! "  if  he  did  not  say  it 
with  regard  to  Michael  Angelo  himself.  And  if,  instead, 
they  had  been  finished  by  other  hands,  with  a  good  rea- 
son he  would  curse  Clement,  who,  after  having  betrayed 
his  country,  had  wished  to  offer  this  offence  to  art  and 
Michael  Angelo's  fame.  This,  God  be  praised,  cannot 
be  said,  because  the  statues  of  Day  and  Night  are  just 
as  that  divine  master  left  them.  These  words,  said  with 
the  conviction  and  the  warmth  of  an  artist,  who  was  a 
poor  one  to  boot,  and  wishing  and  longing  for  fame  and 
fortune,  so  entirely  convinced  the  Prince,  that  he  was 
quite  satisfied ;  and  pressing  my  hand  in  silence,  which 
was  more  eloquent  than  words,  he  left  me. 


RESTORATION  OF  BARTOLINl'S   STATUE.      195 

If  this  conduct  of  mine  was  praised  by  some  people 
in  the  hopes  that  it  had  not  been  quite  liked  by  the 
Prince,  my  acceptance  of  the  order  for  the  two  statues 
for  the  Emperor  and  the  Marchese  Ala  afterwards,  gave 
rise  to  a  number  of  remarks :  "  See  his  consistency  of 
principles  and  opinions!"  they  said.  "How  is  it  that 
the  same  reasons  that  were  held  out  for  his  refusing  the 
figures  in  the  Demidoff  monument  do  not  hold  equally 
good  for  these  ?  Are  these  not  also  statues  of  Bartolini's, 
and  to  be  finished  in  the  same  way  as  those  ?  " 

And  here  I  come  to  an  explanation  of  this  point, 
where  it  would  seem  as  if  I  had  been  in  contradiction 
with  myself.  On  one  of  these  statues,  the  "  Nymph  and 
the  Scorpion,"  for  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  Bartolini  had 
never  worked  with  his  own  hands — in  fact,  it  was  not 
finished,  not  even  blocked  out.  On  the  other,  for  the 
Marchese  Ala,  he  had  worked,  but  how?  The  head, 
where  he  had  wished  to  make  a  change  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  hair,  had  been  so  cut  away  that  there  was 
a  finger's-breadth  of  marble  in  the  blocking-out  points 
wanting  on  each  side,  so  that  it  was  ugly  to  see  ;  and  in 
addition  to  this,  he  had  bent  the  forefinger  of  the  left 
hand  that  rests  on  the  serpent  under  the  palm  of  the 
hand,  perhaps  because  in  undercutting  it  the  last  joint 
of  the  finger  had  been  broken.  Now  this  finger,  bent 
back  and  dislocated,  looked  very  badly,  when  com- 
pared with  the  model  in  plaster,  where  the  fingers  were 
all  extended,  and  pressed  upon  the  serpent's  neck  ad- 
mirably. I  therefore  accepted  both  these  commissions, 
— the  one  because  it  had  never  been  touched  by  Barto- 
lini's own  hand,  and  the  other  because  I  was  willing  and 
able  to  put  it  straight.  However,  before  touching  the 
statue,  I  made  the  Marchese  Ala  acquainted  with  the 
serious  defects  there  were  in  it,  which  Bartolini  would 


ig6  STATUE  OF  INNOCENCE. 

certainly  have  remedied  had  he  had  the  time  to  finish  it ; 
and  I  asked  for  his  permission  (and  on  this  condition 
alone  accepted  the  work)  to  cut  off  all  the  top  of  the 
head  with  the  locks  of  hair  where  it  had  been  injured, 
in  order  to  replace  it  exactly  in  the  way  that  Bartolini 
had  first  imagined  and  modelled  it,  and  to  add  a  piece 
of  marble  to  the  hand  to  remake  the  forefinger.  He 
consented  to  these  conditions.  In  order  to  make  sure 
myself  that  I  was  right,  before  cutting  away  the  defective 
parts,  I  had  a  mould  and  cast  taken  from  them,  that  any 
one  might  see  how  they  stood  before  I  touched  them, 
and  how  by  taking  the  original  model  for  my  guide,  I 
had  replaced  them :  and  I  then  said  (as  I  now  write), 
that  all  who  were  sensible  and  reasonable  understood 
and  were  satisfied;  as  to  the  others,  I  do  not  know  what 
they  thought,  nor  did  I  care  for  them  then,  nor  do  now. 
I  finished  the  two  statues,  copying  the  original  models 
where  these  were  carefully  finished,  and  interpreting 
them  where  they  were  barely  indicated,  selecting  suitable 
models  from  life ;  and  so  I  satisfied  those  who  trusted  in 
me,  and  my  own  conscience. 

Some  time  previous  to  this  the  Marchese  Ala  had 
given  me  an  order  for  the  "Sleep  of  Innocence" — a 
statue  of  a  child  sleeping — which  I  had  already  executed 
a  long  time  before  for  my  excellent  friend  the  Marchese 
Alessandro  Bichi-Ruspoli  of  Siena.  I  therefore  repeated 
this  child  in  marble  by  commission  of  the  aforesaid 
Marchese  Ala;  but  being  rather  changeable,  he  after- 
wards declared  to  me  that  this  work  did  not  entirely 
satisfy  him,  although  it  was  conscientiously  done,  and 
that  he  should  take  it  only  because  he  had  engaged  to 
do  so.  I  answered  that  I  wished  my  works  to  be  taken 
because  they  were  liked,  not  because  they  were  ordered, 
and  begged  that  he  would  not  speak  of  it  again.  He 


THE   MARCHESE  ALA.  197 

thanked  me,  and  promised  to  give  me  another  order  for 
portraits  of  his  three  pretty  little  children ;  but  subse- 
quently I  heard  nothing  more  about  it.  One  day,  being 
in  Turin,  and  finding  myself  at  Vela's  studio,  where  I 
had  gone  to  pay  him  a  visit,  I  saw  a  very  graceful  little 
portrait-group,  full  length,  such  as  that  able  artist  knew 
how  to  make  and  is  in  the  habit  of  making.  I  asked, 
"  Who  are  these  pretty  children  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  children  of  Marchese  Ala,"  replied 
Vela.  "  It  is  already  some  time  since  he  ordered  this 
work,  but  he  has  not  yet  put  in  an  appearance.  I  have 
written  him  so  many  letters,  to  which  I  have  received 
no  answer,  that  I  don't  know  what  to  think." 

I  then  recounted  to  him  what  took  place  about  my 
little  Putto,  and  the  promise  he  had  made  of  giving 
me  an  order  for  the  little  group.  Vela  answered  that 
he  was  astonished  and  annoyed ;  but  as  the  commission 
had  been  given  to  him,  and  the  model  was  in  plaster,  he 
begged  me  to  speak  to  the  Marchese  in  order  that  he 
might  be  able  to  finish  the  work.  I  do  not  know 
whether  Vela  ever  did  put  the  group  into  marble. 

As  regards  myself  and  compensation  for  the  affair  of 
the  Putto,  which  had  been  left  hanging  for  so  many 
years,  he  took  my  Bacco  della  Crittogama ;  but  as  the 
Marchese  was  subject  to  very  long  periods  of  melancholy 
that  prevented  his  thinking  about  anything  for  a  good 
while,  I  heard  nothing  more  on  the  subject,  until  one 
day  Count  Arese,  to  whom  I  began  to  speak  about  this 
affair,  said  to  me — 

"  Leave  the  matter  to  me.  Write  me  a  letter  giving 
me  an  account  of  this  affair,  and  I  will  send  you  the 
money.  I  have  business  relations  with  the  Marchese 
Ala,  and  will  send  him  your  receipt,  and  there  will  be 
an  end  to  it." 


198      STATUETTES  OF  PETRARCH  AND  LAURA. 

I  did  as  he  said,  and  was  satisfied.  What  a  pity  it  is 
that  that  most  noble  gentleman  was  so  often  afflicted  by 
such  a  malady !  He  was  and  is  one  of  the  most  intel- 
ligent and  generous  patrons  of  art.  The  first  Italian 
and  foreign  painters  and  sculptors  had  co-operated  to 
make  his  house  splendid  and  enviable  for  its  works 
of  art. 

As  I  have  already  said,  Demidoff  kept  these  statues 
just  as  Bartolini  had  left  them,  and  placed  them  in  his 
villa  of  San  Donate.  One  evening  after  dinner,  as  we 
were  walking  together  through  its  magnificent  apart- 
ments, he  stopped  in  one  of  the  little  sitting-rooms  and 
said  to  me — 

"  Your  little  statuettes  of  Dante  and  Beatrice  would 
look  well  here  on  small  pedestals  in  the  corners ;  but 
there  ought  to  be  four.  And  you  may  complete  the 
number,  by  making  a  Petrarch  and  Madonna  Laura,  if 
you  like." 

"  I  should  like  to  do  so." 

And  I  made  these  other  two  statuettes.  At  present  I 
do  not  know  who  has  them ;  they  were  sold  at  Paris  a 
few  years  ago,  together  with  a  great  many  other  works 
of  art  belonging  to  the  Prince. 

The  dinners  that  the  Prince  gave  in  that  magnificent 
and  enchanting  house  were  most  splendid.  I  met  there, 
besides  strangers  that  I  do  not  speak  of,  Matas,  the 
Prince's  architect,  Baron  Gariod,  my  good  friend  Pro- 
fessor Zannetti,  Prince  Andrea  Corsini,  and  that  dear 
son  of  his,  young  Amerigo.  One  evening  we  were  play- 
ing billiards  together,  and  having  finished  our  game  of 
Carolina,  he  said  to  me — 

"  Come  away;  let  us  take  a  turn  through  the  rooms ;" 
and  looking  at  and  talking  about  his  statues  of  Pradier, 
Bartolini,  and  Powers,  the  stupendous  Fiamminghi,  the 


DEATH  OF  DON   AMERIGO.  199 

Canalettis,  Titian,  Greuze,  the  arrases  in  the  large  hall, 
the  columns  of  malachite,  remarkable  both  for  their  size 
and  finish,  and  a  thousand  other  objects  of  exquisite 
taste  and  great  cost,  the  young  man's  eyes  sparkled  with 
joy  and  enthusiasm,  and  looking  me  steadily  in  the  face, 
he  said — 

"  I  am  going  away  soon,  you  know,  to  Spain.  On  my 
return,  I  want  to  do  great  things,  and  you  must  help 
me.  I  want  a  house  that  shall  not  be  inferior  to  this." 

I  replied,  "  If  you  desire,  you  can  have  one  even 
more  beautiful.  I  know  the  suite  of  rooms  in  your 
palace,  and  the  masterpieces  of  art  in  your  gallery. 
With  the  riches  you  possess,  and  the  will  that  is  not 
wanting,  you  might,  as  I  have  said,  surpass  even  this 
enchanting  abode." 

A  short  time  after  this,  he  came  to  my  studio  to  say 
good-bye  to  me.  Dear  young  man  !  with  a  pure  heart 
and  open  mind,  an  enthusiast  for  the  beautiful,  and  be- 
loved by  all,  he  went  away,  and  not  one  of  us  saw  him 
again.  He  died  in  a  foreign  land,  where  he  had  gone 
to  bring  away  his  bride. 

Bartolini's  statues  being  finished,  I  made  a  bas-relief 
of  Adam  and  Eve  by  commission  of  Cavaliere  Giulio 
Bianchi  of  Siena ;  after  which  I  retouched  in  wax  the 
pedestal  of  the  Table  for  its  casting  in  bronze,  and  in 
the  meantime  prepared  to  model  the  statue  of  Sant' 
Antonino  for  the  Loggie  of  the  Uffizi.  From  this  time 
forth  things  began  to  go  more  evenly  and  liberally  with 
me,  and  fears  of  falling  back  into  poverty  disappeared 
by  slow  degrees.  Already  the  rent  of  my  studio,  which 
was  not  small,  was  no  longer  a  weight  to  me,  as  by 
sovereign  decree  the  studio  which  had  been  left  by 
Professor  Costoli  on  his  promotion  to  the  presidency  of 
the  Academy  after  Bartolini's  death  was  given  to  me. 


200  THE   COUNT   OF   SYRACUSE. 

The  statuettes  of  Beatrice  and  Dante  of  themselves 
alone  almost  supplied  enough  for  the  daily  wants  of  the 
family,  as  I  always  had  one  or  two  of  them  to  make  at 
a  time.  I  think  I  have  made  about  forty  of  them,  and 
one  of  them  deserves  comment. 

Before  the  Princess  Matilde,  who  was  married  to 
Demidoff,  left  for  Paris  and  was  separated  from  her 
husband,  the  Grand  Duchess  of  Tuscany  ordered  my 
Beatrice,  with  the  intention  of  presenting  it  to  that  lady. 
The  divorce  having  ensued,  she  did  not  give  it  to  her, 
and  the  little  statue  remained  for  some  time  at  her 
Highness's,  and  afterwards  she  gave  it  to  her  brother, 
the  Count  of  Syracuse,  who  used  to  amuse  himself  by 
working  in  sculpture.  This  sculptor-Prince,  without  the 
slightest  improper  intention,  but  rather  from  a  sort  of 
good-natured,  easy-going  way,  used  to  keep  this  statuette 
of  mine  alongside  of  his  own,  and  it  sometimes  hap- 
pened that  persons  praised  him  for  it ;  and  he  must 
have  felt  not  a  little  embarrassed  to  clear  up  this  quid 
pro  quo. 

It  appears  that  sometimes,  perhaps  because  this  an- 
noyed him,  he  made  matters  so  far  from  clear  that  the 
statuette  passed  off  as  his  own  work.  One  day  a  Nea- 
politan lady  came  to  my  studio,  a  Princess  Caraffa  or 
Coscia  (I  cannot  say  which  with  certainty,  but  it  is  a 
matter  that  can  be  verified,  for  she  told  me  that  she  was 
a  descendant  of  the  family  of  Pope  John  XXIII.,  who 
is  buried  in  our  San  Giovanni,  where  one  sees  his  fine 
monument  between  the  two  columns  on  the  right-hand 
side).  This  lady,  when  she  saw  the  Beatrice  among  my 
other  works,  exclaimed — 

"  Oh  !  the  graceful  Portinari  by  the  Count  of  Syracuse  ! 
Is  it  not  true  that  it  is  charming?" 

"Princess,"  I  answered,  "  I  do  not  know  if  that  little 


SANT'  ANTONINO.  201 

figure  is  pretty  or  not,  but  I  am  glad  that  you  think  so, 
for  it  is  mine,  one  of  my  very  first  works.  I  modelled  it 
in  1843,  inspired  by  that  sublime  sonnet  of  Dante  which 
begins — 

'  Tanto  gentile  e  tanto  onesta  pare,'  &c. 

I  made  the  first  copy  of  this  statuette  for  Signer 
Sansone  Uzielli  of  Leghorn ;  the  second  for  the  Grand 
Duke,  which,  with  the  young  Dante,  he  gave  to  the 
Princess  Isabella  his  daughter,  who  married  the  Prince 
Luitpoldo  of  Bavaria ;  and  the  one  that  you  saw  was  pre- 
sented to  the  Count  of  Syracuse  by  the  Grand  Duchess." 

The  noble  lady  smiled,  and  said,  "  I  must  have  been 
mistaken." 

The  Count  of  Syracuse  was  a  great  lover  of  sculpture, 
and  occupied  himself  with  it  as  much  as  was  consistent 
with  the  position  he  occupied.  Several  of  his  works  are 
most  praiseworthy,  and  I  keep  some  of  the  photo- 
graphs of  them  that  he  was  so  kind  as  to  send  me. 

To  return  to  my  Sant'  Antonino  that  I  left  unfinished. 
This  model  cost  me  an  immense  deal  of  work.  The 
subject  required  character,  bearing,  and  attitude  of  an 
absolutely  simple  and  natural  treatment,  such  as  I  gave 
the  Giotto ;  but  fearing  to  meet  with  censure  from  the 
lovers  of  the  classic,  I  kept  doing  and  undoing  my 
work  in  my  sketches,  as  well  as  in  my  large  model.  It  is 
useless  !  One  must  be  decided,  and  sure  of  the  side  one 
wishes  to  take.  This  see-sawing  between  ideal  beauty 
and  truth  to  nature  in  portraiture  will  not  do,  just  as  it 
would  be  absurd  and  bad  to  adhere  entirely  to  nature  in 
other  subjects,  especially  sacred  ones. 

And  although  imitation  of  beautiful  nature  is  the 
foundation  and  substance  of  any  work,  yet  the  mode 
of  seeing  it  and  reproducing  it  constitutes  the  style  that 


202  THE   NATURAL  AND   IDEAL. 

every  artist,  who  is  elevated,  great,  and  pure,  draws  from 
within  himself,  according  to  his  subject  and  the  measure 
meted  out  to  him  by  nature  and  education.  In  portrait 
statues  one  must  abandon  the  ideal,  even  as  regards  the 
ordinary  rules  of  the  just  proportions  of  the  body.  Sant' 
Antonino  was  named  thus  because  he  was  small  of 
stature.  I  was  tempted  several  times  to  make  him 
faithfully  just  as  he  was,  small  and  crooked ;  and  I  made 
a  sketch  of  him  thus,  which  I  still  preserve,  and  it  is 
precious  on  account  of  the  little  stick  on  which  he  leans, 
for  this  stick  was  no  other  than  Giuseppe  Verdi's  pen. 
But  I  did  nothing  more  with  it,  as  I  was  vacillating  be- 
tween the  rules  of  art  and  the  close  imitation  of  nature ; 
and  it  is  just  this  close  imitation  of  the  details  of  nature 
that  constitutes  the  character  of  a  portrait  statue  —  a 
sound  canon  put  wisely  in  practice  by  the  ancients,  as 
can  easily  be  seen  from  their  statues  of  the  philosophers 
in  the  Vatican,  such  as  the  Zeno,  and  more  particularly 
in  that  of  Diogenes;  and  in  the  bas-relief  of  ^Esop, 
where  one  sees  even  the  absolute  hump  on  his  back. 
But  the  copying  in  detail  from  nature  does  not  mean  a 
too  close  imitation  of  every  little  thing,  of  every  wrinkle ; 
these  are  the  mechanical  nothings  that  are,  as  it  were, 
the  battle-horse  to  those  who  make  a  trade  of  art,  and 
should  be  left  to  them. 


203 


CHAPTER    XI. 


CLOSE  IMITATION  FROM  LIFE— MY  ILLNESS — I  AM  IN  DANGER  OF  LOSING  MY  LIFE 
— LUJGI  DEL  PUNTA,  HEAD  PHYSICIAN  AT  COURT — THE  GRAND  DUKE  FUR- 
NISHES ME  WITH  THE  MEANS  FOR  GOING  TO  NAPLES — I  LEAVE  FOR  NAPLES 
— A  BEGGAR  IMPOSTOR — ANOTHER  AND  MY  BOOTS — SORRENTO MY  NEAPOLI- 
TAN FRIENDS— PROFESSOR  TART AGLIA  AND  THE  HYDROPATHIC  CURE— THE 
MUSEUM  AT  NAPLES— LET  US  STUDY  THE  GOOD  WHEREVER  IT  IS  TO  BE 
FOUND — A  STRANGE  PRESENTATION. 


HAT  my  words  may  not  be  obscure,  and  that 
one  may  see  with  sufficient  clearness  the 
difference  that  exists  between  the  details 
that  constitute  different  types  and  the  minu- 
tiae that  must  be  left  out,  I  will  mention  where  this 
sound  principle  of  art  is  to  be  found.  For  greater 
brevity  and  clearness  I  will  speak  of  busts.  The  bust 
in  bronze  of  Seneca  in  the  museum  at  Naples,  the  bust 
of  Scipio  Africanus  in  the  statue-gallery  at  Florence,  the 
Vitellius,  Julia  and  Lucius  Verus,  the  Cicero  of  the 
British  Museum,  and  another  Seneca  at  the  Capitol, 
each  has  a  distinct  character  of  its  own.  So  firm  and 
decided  are  the  details  of  those  different  faces,  the 
planes  are  so  clear  and  certain,  the  life  so  shines  in  the 
eyes,  the  breath  so  seems  to  come  from  the  lips,  that 
they  have  been  for  centuries  the  study  and  stumbling- 
block  of  all  artists ;  for  after  that  period  you  do  not  find 
anything,  unless  it  be  some  terre  cotte  of  Luca  della 
Robbia,  and  a  bust  of  a  bishop  by  Mino  da  Fiesole,  in 


204  TRUTH   OF   DETAIL. 

which  you  do  not  find  every  hair,  and,  in  fact,  every 
possible  minutia. 

The  error  into  which  these  two  schools  run — that  is  to 
say,  the  Academic  and  Naturalistic — is  this,  that  the  one, 
exaggerating  its  general  rules,  neglects  detail,  and  so  be- 
comes hard  and  cold ;  whilst  the  other,  multiplying  them 
ad  infinitum,  falls  into  minutiae  which  make  art  vulgar. 
These  are  both  errors,  both  ugly,  both  false. 

Does  this  brief  tirade,  half  dictatorial  and  half  care- 
less, bore  you,  gentle  reader?  If  so,  skip  it,  for  I  cannot 
let  go  the  opportunity,  from  time  to  time,  of  making 
a  good  critical  observation  when  it  occurs  to  me,  and  I 
think  it  well  not  to  omit  doing  so.  Young  artists  will,  I 
am  sure,  be  grateful  to  me ;  and  besides,  though  these 
few  words  may  have  bored  you,  they  serve  as  a  warning 
to  them  on  the  importance  of  different  characteristics, 
and  are  also  of  use  to  me,  I  do  not  say  as  an  excuse, 
but  as  a  frank  statement  of  opinion,  for  in  my  Sant' 
Antonino  this  rule  is  not  clearly  carried  into  practice. 
The  importance  of  speaking  the  truth  and  loving  it  is 
clearly  given  by  Dante  when  he  says  : — 

"  Che  s'  io  al  vero  son  timido  amico 
Temo  di  perder  vita  tra  coloro, 
Che  questo  tempo  chiameranno  antico."  * 

As  I  am  an  ardent  lover  of  truth,  I  wish  to  speak 
it  now.  With  regard  to  this  statue,  if  I  had  not  the 
strength  of  mind  to  reproduce  the  saint  just  as  he  was, 
with  all  his  peculiarities,  in  other  statues  it  has  been  my 
study  to  do  so,  and  I  believe  not  without  success. 

But  in  the  meanwhile — I  do  not  know  for  what  reason 

1  "  And  if  I  am  a  timid  friend  to  truth, 

I  fear  that  I  may  lose  my  life  with  those 
Who  will  hereafter  call  this  time  the  olden." 

— DANTE  :  Paradise,  Canto  xvii. 


ILLNESS.  205 

— a  general  feeling  of  uneasiness  took  possession  of  me, 
and  a  prostration  of  strength,  that  prevented  me  from 
thinking  or  working.  Added  to  this,  I  had  attacks  of 
giddiness,  and  was  obliged  to  spend  entire  days  sitting 
down  without  being  able  to  do  anything,  and  feeling  sad 
and  melancholy.  My  medical  friends — Alberti  and  Bar- 
zellotti — recommended  exercise,  meat  diet,  and  a  little 
good  wine,  which  in  those  days  (1852)  could  scarcely  be 
found  genuine.  They  ordered  me  to  take  preparations 
of  iron  and  zinc,  but  my  health  grew  worse  every  day. 
It  was  now  three  months  since  I  had  gone  to  the 
studio.  I  went  out  sometimes  in  the  carriage  with  my 
poor  wife,  and  we  used  to  go  into  the  country,  or  on  the 
hills  of  San  Domenico,  Settignano,  or  Pian  di  Giullari. 
Sometimes  I  went  out  on  foot,  but  accompanied  by  and 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Enrico  Pazzi,  Luigi  Majoli,  or 
Ciseri,  who  one  day  took  me  by  the  railway  to  Prato, 
where  we  remained  until  evening.  After  that  I  began 
to  feel  a  want  of  appetite,  nausea,  and  sleeplessness,  and 
then  my  friends  really  became  alarmed  about  my  health. 
The  Grand  Duke  Leopold,  that  excellent  sovereign, 
who  was  called  the  babbo — I  know  not  if  from  affection 
or  derision — was  for  me  (and  for  many  others  who  do 
not  think  proper  to  admit  it)  really  paternal  in  his  care 
and  timely  help.  Almost  every  day  he  wished  to  have 
news  of  my  health ;  and  constantly  sent  Luigi  Venturi, 
his  secretary  and  a  friend  of  mine,  to  make  inquiries. 
When  he  heard  that  matters  had  come  to  this  bad  pass, 
he  charged  his  private  medical  attendant,  Luigi  del 
Punta,  to  come  and  examine  me,  study  my  disease,  and 
suggest  a  remedy.  Del  Punta,  before  coming  to  see  me, 
acquainted  my  medical  advisers  with  the  order  he  had  re- 
ceived, and  a  consultation  was  fixed  for  the  following  day, 
which  was  the  8th  of  September,  1852 — the  Feast  of  the 
Virgin.  On  that  morning  Alberti  and  Barzellotti  arrived 


206  CONSULTATION   OF   PHYSICIANS. 

first,  paid  me  a  little  visit,  and  then  retired  into  the  sit- 
ting-room to  wait  for  Del  Punta.  The  sitting-room  was 
next  to  my  room.  Del  Punta  came  in,  and  they  talked 
for  a  long  time,  but  in  an  undertone,  so  that  I  heard 
nothing,  except  one  word  pronounced  by  Del  Punta, 
which  put  me  in  a  great  state  of  apprehension,  and  that 
was  "tape-worm."  The  idea  that  I  could  have  that  ugly 
malicious  beast  inside  me  frightened  me,  and  when  they 
came  into  my  room  they  found  me  in  a  much  worse  con- 
dition than  when  they  had  left  me  a  little  time  before. 
I  always  remember  the  piercing  look  of  Del  Punta, 
anxious  and  penetrating.  Then  he  began  to  question 
me,  and  examine  me  all  over,  by  auscultation,  thump- 
ing, and  squeezing  me.  His  inspection  was  a  long  one ; 
but  as  he  proceeded  little  by  little,  his  expression  be- 
came more  open,  his  beaming  frank  eyes  met  mine,  and 
I  could  almost  say  that  a  mocking  smile  played  about 
his  lips.  Seeing  me  still  staring  at  him,  he  gave  me  a 
little  tap  with  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  said,  "Well, 
be  of  good  cheer;  there  is  nothing  serious  the  matter." 
And  seeing  that  I  did  not  believe  him,  he  added,  "  I 
tell  you  you  haven't  a  cabbage-worth  the  matter  with 
you ! "  and  he  said  this  with  emphasis. 

Well,  my  dear  reader,  that  foolish  expression  did  me 
good.  If  he  had  assured  me  in  the  usual  way,  and  with 
select  phraseology,  that  I  had  nothing  serious  the  matter 
with  me,  it  would  not  have  had  the  eloquence  or  efficacy 
of  that  slang  word  blurted  out  with  such  force  in  the 
face  of  the  sick  man,  before  the  other  medical  men,  with 
my  poor  wife  listening  sadly  and  anxiously,  my  little  ones 
about  me,  not  understanding,  but  full  of  vague  fears  on 
account  of  their  mother's  sadness  and  the  novelty  of  the 
thing.  It  brought  with  it,  I  say,  such  a  sense  of  convic- 
tion, that  it  was  for  me  a  true  and  positive  affirmation. 


I   AM  SENT  TO   NAPLES.  2O/ 

Poor  Luigi !  as  learned  in  medicine  as  you  were  genial 
as  a  friend,  on  that  day  you  gave  new  life  to  me  when  I 
seemed  to  see  it  fleeting  from  me.  You  so  vivacious,  so 
full  of  health— -I  so  weak  and  ill ;  who  would  have  then 
said  that  so  soon  you  would  be  gone  ? 

After  having  assured  me  and  my  wife  that  there  was 
no  serious  disease,  that  I  should  certainly  recover,  he 
added  that  I  required  a  special  method  of  treatment 
that  had  more  to  do  with  a  regimen  of  life  than  with 
medicine,  and  that  he  would  refer  the  result  of  the 
consultation  and  his  examination  to  the  Grand  Duke. 
In  fact,  he  reported  to  the  Grand  Duke  (as  I  after- 
wards learned),  that  in  the  condition  in  which  I  was, 
I  could  not  have  lived;  my  nerves  were  so  shattered 
that  I  had  become  very  weak,  and  that  I  suffered  from 
vertigo  and  could  hardly  stand,  and  at  last  had  lost  my 
appetite  and  power  of  sleeping.  It  was  urgent  that  I 
should  have  rest ;  and  this  would  consist  in  taking  me 
away  from  home,  away  from  my  studio,  from  Florence, 
from  all — in  one  word,  sending  me  off  on  a  journey,  not 
a  long  one,  but  far  enough  to  distract  me  from  cares 
and  thoughts  that  oppressed ;  this  was  the  only  remedy, 
he  said,  and  could  be  freely  adopted,  as  I  had  no  inter- 
nal disease.  It  was  necessary  that  I  should  have  a 
companion  that  I  liked  with  me,  and  he  suggested  that 
my  wife  should  accompany  me. 

A  few  days  after,  the  Grand  Duke  informed  me  by 
means  of  his  secretary,  Venturi,  that  it  was  necessary  for 
me  to  have  a  change  of  air,  and  that  Professor  del  Punta 
had  advised  Naples,  as  it  was  a  bright  cheerful  place  to 
stay  in — where  the  air  was  mild,  and  where  there  were 
many  pleasant  things  to  distract  one :  that  I  must  there- 
fore make  my  arrangements  to  go  there;  that  my  wife  and 
one  little  girl  must  accompany  me ;  and  that  I  was  not 


208          ARRANGEMENTS   FOR   DEPARTURE. 

to  give  a  thought  to  anything,  as  he  provided  for  every- 
thing during  the  time  that  was  necessary  for  my  re- 
covery, and  he  recommended  me  to  his  minister  Cava- 
liere  Luigi  Bargagli. 

Every  day  that  preceded  my  departure,  Professor  del 
Punta  came  to  see  me,  and  encouraged  me  to  be  of  good 
cheer  also,  on  the  part  of  the  Grand  Duke.  The  pre- 
parations for  our  departure  were  many,  and  by  no  means 
trifling.  It  was  necessary  to  make  arrangements  so 
that  the  work  in  the  studio  should  not  be  without  direc- 
tion, and  should  be  carried  on  carefully.  Tito  Sarrocchi, 
then  my  scholar  and  workman,  was  intrusted  with  the 
direction  of  it.  The  works  in  hand,  besides  the  statue  of 
Sant'  Antonino,  were,  "  Innocence  and  the  Fisherman," 
for  Lord  Crawford  of  London,  and  some  busts.  As  to 
models  in  clay,  I  left  a  Bacco  dell'  uva  Malata,  that  Sar- 
rocchi had  charge  of  until  my  return.  My  friends, 
artists  and  not  artists,  came  during  those  days  to  say 
good-bye  to  me,  some  of  them  consoling  themselves 
with  hopes  of  my  recovery,  and  others  fearing  that  they 
should  never  see  me  again,  so  emaciated  and  sad  was  I ; 
and  Antonio  Ciseri  wept  in  saying  good-bye. 

Good  gracious  !  how  long  and  tedious  is  this  narrative 
of  your  illness ! 

Long !  yes  or  no.  Long  for  you  perhaps,  who,  as  it 
would  seem,  have  never  been  ill,  and  who  do  not  know 
what  a  consolation  it  is  for  one  who  is  suffering  from 
the  same  malady  as  yourself  to  hear  about  such  illness 
from  one  who  is  at  present  quite  well.  If  it  annoys 
you,  have  patience — some  one  may  benefit  by  it ;  and 
at  any  rate,  for  the  present  I  have  done. 

The  night  that  preceded  my  departure,  that  dear 
saintly  woman  my  wife  remained  up  all  night  to  put 
everything  in  the  house  in  order,  and  to  prepare  what 


IMPRESSIONS  OF   NAPLES.  209 

was  needed  for  us — that  is,  myself,  my  wife,  and  Beppina, 
our  second  daughter.  I  had  at  that  time  four  daughters  : 
Amalia,  who  is  the  eldest;  Beppina,  who  went  with 
me ;  and  Luisina  and  Emilia,  who  remained  at  home  with 
their  grandmother  and  Amalia.  I  lost  Emilia  quite 
young,  dear  little  angel.  Her  little  body  rests  in  the 
cemetery  of  San  Leonardo.  Gigina  I  lost  when  she  was 
grown  up,  and  will  speak  of  this  in  its  place. 

The  journey  had  to  be  made  by  short  stages  in  a  vettura, 
so  that  it  was  necessary  to  hire  a  carriage  and  keep  it 
at  one's  own  expense  as  far  as  Naples.  We  left  on  the 
morning  of  the  2oth  of  October  1852,  arrived  on  the 
28th,  and  lodged  at  the  Hotel  de  Rome,  Santa  Lucia. 
That  eight  days'  journey  in  the  sweet  company  of  my 
wife,  the  pretty,  innocent  'questionings  of  Beppina  about 
the  fields,  the  rivers,  and  the  villages  that  we  passed 
by  one  after  the  other,  the  novelty  of  the  life,  the  pure 
country  air,  and  the  hope  of  regaining  my  health,  had 
softened  the  asperity  of  my  suffering.  Apathy  and  sad- 
ness gradually  gave  way  to  a  desire  to  see  new  things  ; 
my  wife's  questions  and  those  of  my  little  one  obliged  me 
to  answer,  and  sometimes  to  smile.  I  felt  my  appetite  for 
food  return,  and  I  slept  peacefully  some  hours  every  night. 

In  this  way  I  arrived  in  Naples — in  that  immense 
city,  so  crowded  with  people,  so  noisy  and  deafening  on 
account  of  the  numbers  of  carriages,  shouts  of  the  coach- 
men, of  the  people  offering  things  for  sale,  of  jugglers, 
beggars,  all  speaking  in  a  strange  difficult  dialect  most 
unpleasant  to  a  Tuscan.  In  this  city  the  first  impres- 
sion made  upon  me  was  a  mixture  of  wonder  and  anger. 
It  seemed  to  me  as  if  one  could  do  all  that  those  good 
people  were  doing  without  being  obliged  to  scream  and 
throw  one's  self  about  so  much.  Here  a  coachman 
smacked  his  whip  within  four  fingers  of  your  ears,  to  ask 

o 


210  IMPRESSIONS   OF   NAPLES. 

you  if  you  wanted  his  carriage ;  there  a  man,  selling  iced 
water  and  lemonade,  screamed  out  at  the  height  of  his 
voice  I  don't  know  what,  and,  to  give  it  more  force,  beat 
with  his  lemon-squeezers  against  his  metallic  bench,  like 
Norma  or  Villeda  on  Irminsul's  shield ;  a  little  farther 
on  a  half-naked  beggar,  with  his  ragged  wife  and  children, 
shouted  out,  "  I  am  dying  with  hunger,"  with  lungs  that 
a  commander  of  a  battalion  in  the  battle-field  might 
envy.  These  beggars,  however,  are  for  the  most  part 
impostors.  One  day — it  was  a  festa — I  was  returning 
from  San  Gennaro,  where  I  had  been  to  Mass  with  my 
wife  and  little  girl.  I  saw  a  man  extended  on  the 
ground  with  his  body  and  legs  inside  a  doorway,  his 
head  and  his  arms  out  into  the  street ;  his  mouth  was 
green  with  grass  that  he  had  been  chewing,  and  some 
of  which  was  hanging  out  of  his  mouth.  The  people 
passing  by  looked,  and  then  went  on  their  way  talk- 
ing and  laughing  as  if  it  was  nothing.  I  was  stunned, 
indignant,  and  full  of  pity,  and  turning  to  my  wife 
(and  even  I  flinging  about  my  arms  in  the  Neapol- 
itan fashion),  said,  with  all  the  Christian  and  human 
resentment  that  I  was  capable  of,  "  How  is  it  possible 
that,  in  such  a  flourishing  and  civil  city  as  this,  a  poor 
Christian  is  left  to  die  of  hunger  in  the  street  for  want 
of  a  little  bread  which  is  denied  him  by  his  unnatural 
brethren,  and  is  obliged  to  feed  upon  the  food  for 
beasts?"  And  I  ran  at  once  to  a  pastrycook's  near 
by  for  some  cakes,  because  I  thought  bread  would  be 
too  hard  food  for  a  man  reduced  to  such  a  state ;  and 
with  a  light  heart  on  account  of  the  good  action,  I  took 
them  to  him  that  I  might  see  him  eat  them,  and  as 
soon  as  he  was  a  little  restored  give  him  some  soldi. 
Clever  indeed  !  You  little  thought  that  the  man  was 
an  impostor  !  '  I  bent  over  him,  called  him  ;  he  did  not 


I  GIVE  MY  BOOTS  TO  A  BEGGAR.     211 

answer.  I  put  a  cake  to  his  mouth,  and  he  looked  at 
me,  took  the  cakes,  and  hid  them  in  his  bosom  between 
his  shirt  and  his  skin,  and  this  kind  of  a  bag  was  crammed 
full  of  bread  and  other  things.  Some  inquisitive  people 
had  stopped  to  look  on,  and  seeing  this,  it  seemed  to  me 
as  if  they  laughed  at  my  simplicity. 

And  as  I  am  on  this  question,  and  my  memory  serves 
me  well,  I  will  tell  you  of  another  beggar.  In  front  of 
the  Hotel  de  France,  Largo  Castello,  where  I  was 
staying,  is  the  Church  of  San  Giacomo.  At  the  door 
of  this  church  a  poor  man  stood  from  morning  until 
night  trembling,  half  naked,  and  barefoot.  It  made  me 
feel  badly,  comfortably  lodged  as  I  was,  and  sitting  smok- 
ing my  cigar  on  the  terrace,  to  see  that  poor  creature 
out  in  the  cold  with  his  feet  in  the  mud.  More  than 
once  my  poor  wife  had  given  him  some  soldi ;  but  one 
day  when  it  was  raining  heavily,  and  the  poor  man  was 
out  in  it  all,  with  his  feet  nearly  covered  by  water,  a 
happy  thought  struck  me,  inspired  by  Christian  charity, 
and  I  said,  "  I  am  here  under  cover,  and  have  boots  on 
my  feet,  while  that  poor  wretch  is  there  outside  with  no 
shoes  on;  I  will  give  him  my  boots."  I  rang  the  bell; 
the  servant  came,  and  I  said  to  him,  "  RafTael,  take 
this  pair  of  boots  to  that  poor  man  over  there  by  the 
door  of  San  Giacomo." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Raffael,  and  away  he  went. 

I  went  back  on  to  the  balcony  to  enjoy  the  effect  of 
my  good  deed,  imagining  that  I  should  see  an  expression 
of  amazement  and  joy  on  the  man's  face.  Nothing  of 
the  sort ;  he  remained  there  with  the  boots  in  hand  as  if 
he  did  not  know  exactly  what  sort  of  things  they  were, 
and  when  Raffael  told  him  that  I  gave  them  to  him,  and 
pointed  me  out  to  him  on  the  terrace,  the  man  turned, 
looked  up,  and,  always  holding  them  in  his  hand,  made 


212  THE   BEGGAR   SELLS   THE   BOOTS. 

signs  of  thanking  me;  then  he  put  them  down  on  the 
ground  near  his  feet,  and  continued  to  stretch  out  his 
hands  to  the  people  entering  the  church  !  "  Ah,  poor 
man,"  I  said,  "he  wished  to  put  them  on  to-morrow 
morning ;  he  must  wash  himself,  of  course,  and  dry 
his  feet  before  putting  them  on.  How  stupid  of  me ! 
The  people  are  just  going  in  for  the  novena  (it  was 
Christmas-time),  and  he  does  not  want  to  lose  a  chance 
grano  to  buy  him  some  bread."  But  the  next  morning 
he  was  still  barefooted,  and  it  was  raining.  I  said  to 
my  wife — 

"  Look,  I  sent  that  poor  man  my  boots  yesterday,  so 
that  he  should  not  wet  his  feet,  but  he  has  not  put  them 
on.  What  do  you  think  is  the  reason  ?  What  should 
you  say  ?  " 

"  He  probably  wishes  to  keep  them  for  Sundays,"  was 
the  serious  answer  of  that  dear  simple  woman. 

"  You  are  joking,  my  dear ;  that  man  is  old,  and  if  he 
keeps  them  for  Sundays  he  will  not  see  the  end  of  them. 
I  say  that  he  has  sold  them." 

"  And  I  say,  that  if  he  had  two  or  three  lire  to  spare, 
he  would  have  wished  to  buy  a  pair,  poor  man  ! " 

We  each  remained  of  our  own  opinion.  Late  in  the 
day  we  went  out,  and,  approaching  the  poor  man,  I  said 
to  him — 

"  Why  have  you  not  put  on  the  boots  that  I  gave 
you  ?  Are  they  tight  ?  " 

"  Your  Excellency,"  he  replied,  "  if  I  put  the  boots 
on,  no  one  will  give  me  another  penny.  I  have  sold 
them,  your  Excellency;  and  may  the  Virgin  bless 
you." 

A  few  days  after  my  arrival  at  Naples  I  went  to  Sor- 
rento. The  discordant  noise  of  the  town  annoyed  me, 
and  I  wished  to  try  that  little  place,  so  much  praised  for 


SORRENTO  AND   ITS  INHABITANTS. 

its  climate  and  for  its  quietness,  and  so  full  of  association 
with  that  illustrious  and  unhappy  man,  Torquato  Tasso. 
I  went  there  with  my  friend  Venturi,  who  had  come  to 
Naples  for  a  few  days  with  the  Grand  Duke. 

Sorrento  is  a  charming  little  town  seated  on  the  crest 
of  a  hill  called  the  Deserto.  It  is  surrounded  on  the 
left  by  woods  of  orange,  citron,  and  lemon  trees,  and  on 
the  right  by  the  sea  with  the  island  of  Capri,  that  seems 
to  rise  up  majestically  from  the  deep  blue  waters.  On 
the  far  horizon  one  catches  a  glimpse  of  Nisida  and 
Baia.  This  small  town  is  inhabited  by  fishermen,  orange- 
packers  employed  on  the  large  landed  possessions  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  by  most  clever  workers  of  inlaid 
wood,  who  have  made  their  art  so  much  in  request  by 
the  thousand  little  trifles,  so  pretty  in  design  and  so  care- 
fully executed,  that  they  make.  Garguillo's  manufactory 
is  much  renowned,  and  justly  so.  Not  only  do  you  find 
on  the  pieces  of  furniture  cornices,  fillets,  meanders, 
and  other  graceful  ornaments,  but  also .  extremely  pretty 
figures  inlaid  on  the  boxes,  little  tables,  and  other  nick- 
nacks  with  which  well-to-do  people  embellish  their  rooms. 
Here  the  air  is  mild,  and  the  sun  is  tempered  by  the 
shade  of  laurels  and  orange-trees.  The  character  of  the 
inhabitants  is  gentle  and  laborious,  and  through  their 
acts  and  their  words  there  breathes  a  quiet,  ineffable 
melancholy,  like  the  memory  of  a  sweet  pure  dream. 
Their  complexion  is  dark,  and  also  their  hair;  their  eyes 
have  long  lashes,  and  are  cut  in  almond  shape.  It  seems 
as  if  they  looked  with  infinite  sweetness  at  something  im- 
measurably far  off;  their  smile  is  sad,  as  if  it  recalled  to 
them  a  lost  existence  that  hope  induced  them  to  think 
not  irretrievably  lost.  This  favoured,  I  should  almost  say 
ideal,  bit  of  nature,  at  a  few  miles'  distance  from  the 
thoughtless  vulgar  noise  of  the  inhabitants  of  Naples,  is 


214          SORRENTO — RETURN   TO  NAPLES. 

a  thing  commented  on  by  all,  but  by  no  one  reasonably 
explained.  The  climate  so  temperate,  the  air  perfumed 
with  the  scent  of  orange-flowers,  and  the  sweet  melan- 
choly on  those  faces,  instead  of  reridering  the  place 
agreeable  to  me,  made  me  profoundly  sad.  Why  did  my 
heart  not  open  itself  to  the  enjoyments  of  that  pure, 
serene,  and  most  beautiful  nature  ?  Why  was  it  that  that 
bright  sky,  that  tranquil  sea,  that  quiet  industrious  life, 
rendered  me  more  sad  and  thoughtful  ?  Perhaps  it  was 
because  being  so  very  weak  I  did  not  feel  the  strength 
within  me  to  reproduce  in  art  any  of  those  many  impres- 
sions that  the  mind  took  in  and  fancy  clothed  in  most 
varied  forms.  One  day  I  visited  Tasso's  house ;  and 
whilst,  as  usual,  the  cicerone  explained  in  his  way  the 
singularity  of  that  abode,  I  dwelt  in  imagination  on  the 
life  and  vicissitudes  of  that  unhappy  poet,  and  recalled 
the  secret  joys  of  that  passionate  soul  after  he  had  fin- 
ished his  Christian  epic :  I  saw  the  courteous,  hand- 
some cavalier,  the  inspired  poet,  envied  and  conspired 
against  by  the  favourites  of  the  Duke  and  the  literati, 
his  rivals ;  the  looks  of  the  ladies,  whose  frank  admira- 
tion was  veiled  in  the  shadow  of  profligacy;  then  the 
disorder,  confusion,  first  in  the  heart,  and  then  in  the 
brain  of  poor  Torquato,  the  suspicions  of  the  Duke,  his 
imprisonment,  his  lawsuit,  his  resignation  and  death ; 
and  I  wept. 

I  decided  to  return  to  Naples — for  this  quiet  full  of 
fancies  drove  me  back  into  myself,  and"  made  me  more 
sad.  I  took  up  my  abode  in  the  centre  of  the  great 
city,  in  Piazza  Castello,  at  the  Hotel  de  France,  on  the 
angle  of  the  Strada  dei  Guantai  Vecchi.  In  this  hotel 
strangers  were  continually  coming  and  going,  and  chang- 
ing every  day.  The  windows  of  my  little  apartment 
opened  on  the  Piazza,  and  the  mid-day  and  westerly  sun 


MY  ILL   HEALTH   CONTINUES.  21$ 

bathed  them  in  heat  and  light.  Some  artists,  in  compas- 
sion for  my  condition,  came  to  give  me  courage;  and 
among  them  I  remember  with  profound  sadness,  for  almost 
all  of  them  are  now  dead,  Cammillo  Guerra,  Giuseppe 
Mancinelli,  Gigante,  and  Tommaso  Aloysio  Juvara,  who 
had  such  a  tragic  end  in  Rome.  The  warmth  of  your 
heart  turned  your  brain,  my  poor  friend!  but  in  your  last 
moments  you  acknowledged  your  sin,  and  God  will  have 
been  merciful  to  you.  The  other  younger  artists  who 
are  still  alive  are  the  sculptors  Solari  and  Balzico,  the 
miniature-painter  Di  Crescenzio,  and  Postiglione  the 
painter.  But  my  health  was  always  the  same.  Profes- 
sor Vulpes,  to  whom  I  had  brought  a  letter  of  recom- 
mendation from  Professor  del  Punta,  continued  to  fol- 
low the  same  treatment  as  that  indicated  by  the  other 
Florentine  doctors, — that  is  to  say,  prescribing  prepara- 
tions of  iron,  meat  diet,  rest,  and  tranquillity  of  mind. 
And  in  the  meanwhile  I  had  no  desire  to  eat ;  my  sleep 
was  restless  and  of  short  duration ;  my  legs  would  ill  sup- 
port me,  and  my  mind  was  so  depressed  that  I  could  not 
endure  to  read  more  than  a  few  pages.  As  to  writing,  I 
was  obliged  to  stop  every  moment  or  so ;  ideas  got  con- 
fused, and  I  could  not  separate  them  from  each  other 
or.  give  them  any  proper  shape.  It  was  a  great  fatigue 
to  me  to  give  my  news  to  Venturi  when  he  desired  to 
hear  from  me. 

At  last  the  longed-for  day  came  which  was  to  decide 
the  question  of  my  health.  It  was  already  two  months 
since  I  had  left  my  home ;  and  although  the  journey  to 
Naples  and  the  air  there  had  been  somewhat  beneficial 
to  me,  yet  I  was  very  far  from  entertaining  the  slightest 
hope  of  recovery — or  rather  this  recovery  was  so  slow 
as  to  make  me  lose  all  patience.  At  this  stage  good 
Professor  Smargiassi,  seeing  me  always  so  weak  and 


2l6  I   TRY  THE  WATER-CURE. 

melancholy,  said   to   me,    "  Why  do   you  not   try  the 
water-cure  ?  " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  water-cure?"  I  replied;  and 
he  explained  it  to  me,  adding,  "  Here  in  Naples  there 
is  Professor  Tartaglia,  who  has  effected  some  wonderful 
cures."  He  told  me  of  some,  and  he  added  that  he 
himself  had  tried  this  cure  and  had  got  well.  As  Smar- 
giassi  was  a  serious  man,  with  a  temperate  habit  of 
speech  on  all  matters,  his  words  carried  weight  with 
them,  and  I  consented  willingly  to  consult  this  hydro- 
pathic professor,  and  so  sent  for  him. 

Professor  Tartaglia  was  an  exceptional  Neapolitan — 
that  is  to  say,  he  had  nothing  of  the  vivacity  of  speech 
and  manners  that  is  peculiar  to  this  warm-hearted,  ex- 
uberant, and  imaginative  people ;  he  spoke  little  and 
quietly,  listened  a  great  deal,  and  observed  attentively. 
When  he  had  heard  of  my  complaints,  he  examined  me, 
and  after  that  said  :  "  You  have  no  disease,  although  you 
may  not  feel  well ;  you  will  recover  quietly  and  easily — of 
that  you  may  be  sure.  In  the  meanwhile  I  will  tell  you 
that  I  shall  not  come  again  to  see  you ;  but  instead,  you 
must  come  to  see  me  every  morning  at  twelve  o'clock  to 
give  me  an  account  of  how  you  feel.  To-morrow  you 
must  take  your  first  bath.  Don't  be  alarmed — it  is  not 
a  bath  by  immersion  ;  you  are  not  to  go  into  the  water," 
and  he  gave  me  the  directions  to  be  followed ;  and  as 
he  was  going  away  he  said,  "  Let  alone  the  medicines 
that  you  have  taken  thus  far." 

The  first  morning  this  hydropathic  cure  seemed  very 
arduous.  To  get  out  of  one's  bed  and  put  on  a  sheet 
drenched  with  cold  water  is  not  the  pleasantest  thing  in 
the  world,  especially  at  that  season  of  the  year  (it  was 
the  last  of  December);  but  after  the  first  impression, 
I  can  assure  you  that  the  external  warmth  finally  pro- 


MY  HEALTH  IS   RENEWED.  2I/ 

duces  a  pleasant  effect,  and  gives  strength  and  elasticity 
to  the  body.  After  the  bath,  walking  exercise  should 
be  taken  for  at  least  an  hour.  To  my  objection  that  I 
could  not  walk,  the  Professor  answered,  "  Walk  as  much 
as  you  can,  rest  a  little,  and  then  continue  to  walk,  and  so 
on ;  you  will  see  day  by  day  that  your  strength  will  re- 
turn, and  with  your  strength,  courage  and  happiness."  In 
short,  after  a  month  of  this  treatment  I  was  so  well  that 
I  could  walk  easily  eight  miles  during  the  day.  When  I 
wrote  to  Florence  of  the  new  cure  that  I  had  begun,  Del 
Punta  was  frightened,  and  said  that  he  would  not  be 
responsible  for  the  result  of  this  resolution  of  mine, 
which,  to  say  the  least,  was  hazardous ;  and  that  I  ought 
not  to  have  undertaken  it  without  the  advice  of  an 
ordinary  practitioner — that  is  to  say,  of  an  allopathic 
doctor.  His  making  this  a  condition  tranquillised  me, 
as  Professor  Tartaglia  was  really  an  allopathic  doctor ; 
but  in  some  cases  that  were  rebellious  to  that  system  of 
treatment  he  adopted  hydropathy.  Then,  too,  the  result 
was  so  satisfactory,  so  decided,  that  all  objections  fell  to 
the  ground,  and  nothing  more  was  said  about  it. 

By  degrees  I  felt  my  strength  returning,  and  my  heart 
expanded  with  hope.  Delightful  artistic  thoughts,  that 
had  so  long  lain  dormant,  sprang  into  life  within  me,  one 
by  one,  like  the  first  leaves  in  April ;  and  Will,  precious 
gift,  mysterious,  immortal  power,  again  took  and  held  its 
empire  over  me,  and  pronounced  itself.  During  the 
days  just  passed,  the  smiling  country,  the  glorious  sun, 
the  terrible  beauty  of  the  sea,  the  joys  of  men,  the  crea- 
tions of  art,  and  (sad  to  say)  even  the  affectionate  care 
of  my  dear  ones,  were  irksome  to  me ;  and  now,  with 
pleasure,  slowly  and  by  degrees  I  began  to  feel  a  desire 
and  thirst  to  enjoy  these  good  things,  thinking  about  them 
and  loving  them  with  more  intensity  of  understanding 


21 8       EXCURSIONS — THE  ROYAL   MUSEUM. 

and  hearty  sincerity.  Every  day  there  was  a  new  excur- 
sion to  be  made :  Capodimonte,  with  its  immense  park 
and  rich  gallery ;  that  beautiful  walk,  the  Strada  Maria 
Teresa,  nowVittorio  Emanuele;  the  Certosa  of  San  Mar- 
tino,  where  one  enjoys  a  view  of  the  whole  city,  of  the 
sea  and  all  the  Campagna-Felice,  of  Vesuvius,  of  Monte 
Somma,  of  Portici,  Resina,  Capri,  and  Nisida.  Then  I 
felt  a  desire  to  see  the  Royal  Museum,  unique  in  the 
world  for  its  great  riches  in  ancient  bronzes ;  the  Flora, 
Venus  Victrix,  Callipige,  Aristides,  the  equestrian  statues 
of  the  Balbi,  father  and  son ;  the  seated  Mercury;  the 
Sleeping  Faun,  and  a  thousand  other  statues,  big  and 
little;  busts,  in  marble  and  in  bronze,  of  exquisite 
beauty,  all  or  almost  all  of  them  having  been  dug  out 
of  the  ashes  of  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.  On  certain 
days,  or  I  should  rather  say  at  certain  moments,  a  sight 
of  these  works  of  sculpture  sets  one  on  fire,  and  fills  one 
with  courage  and  a  strong  desire  to  do  something ;  but 
at  other  times  it  gives  one  a  feeling  of  dismay,  discour- 
agement, and  fear  that  cannot  be.  described.  This  dif- 
ference of  impression  deserves  to  be  examined  a  little, 
and  he  who  is  bored  must  here  skip ;  the  young  artist, 
however,  I  am  certain,  will  follow  me  attentively.  I 
have  made  a  promise  to  myself  not  to  leave  these  papers 
as  food  for  mere  curiosity,  for,  seriously  speaking,  there 
should  be  no  satisfaction  in  that ;  whereas  a  little  value 
and  profit  will  be  found  by  every  one  who  has  the 
patience  to  follow  me. 

Yes,  dear  friends,  sometimes,  in  seeing  certain  works 
of  art,  one  burns  with  enthusiasm,  with  a  fire,  a  desire 
to  do,  that  is  really  marvellous,  and  we  ease  our  minds 
with  the  conviction  that  this  is  a  sign  of  our  strength. 
Illusions,  dear  sirs — illusions  !  To  the  eyes  of  the  artist 
all  works  of  art  ought  to  be  the  occasion  of  examina- 


THE  ACADEMICIANS  AND   NATURALISTS.      2IQ 

tion  and  serious  hesitating  thought;  and  when  these 
outbursts  of  immoderate  confidence  in  ourselves  occur, 
they  are  a  sign  that  our  sight  is  obscured  by  pride,  or 
that  we  are  not  able  to  comprehend  the  degree  of  beauty 
in  such  works,  and  consequently  the  difficulties  that 
have  been  overcome  to  produce  them.  We  must  correct 
ourselves  of  both  these  defects,  and  learn  to  respect  even 
mediocre  things,  as  by  this  method  we  arrive  at  the 
discovery  of  something  good  even  in  these,  if  not  as  a 
whole,  at  least  in  their  intention  and  germ,  and  this  will 
always  be  something  gained.  As  a  young  man,  I  have 
found  myself  laughing  compassionately  at  some  of  the 
most  beautiful  works  of  art,  both  ancient  and  modern, 
and  this  merely  because  my  natural  pride  had  been 
excited  by  light  or  false  praise.  The  complacency  that 
we  feel  in  ourselves  and  our  works  comes  in  part 
from  a  species  of  exclusiveness  and  belief  in  the  infalli- 
bility of  the  principles  we  profess.  Not  that  I  would 
counsel  any  disloyalty  to  the  principles  that  are  our 
guides  in  art — no,  indeed,  for  we  must  keep  entirely  true 
to  them ;  but  it  is  a  very  different  thing  to  despise  all 
other  schools  that  are  removed  from  ours.  For  instance, 
why  despise  the  Academicians,  who  are  tenacious  of  the 
study  of  antique  statues,  in  order  to  keep  within  bounds 
the  turbid  torrent  of  the  veristi,  who  in  their  turn, 
through  their  coarse  adherence  to  nature,  lose  the  idea 
of  the  beautiful  ?  Let  us,  on  the  contrary,  respect  them  for 
their  intentions  and  motives,  at  the  same  time  that  we 
make  certain  reservations  as  to  the  final  consequences 
that  would  result  from  this  distrust  and  refashioning  of 
nature.  The  fault  of  the  Academic  school  lies  in  this, 
that  instead  of  saying,  "  Study  the  antique ;  look  how 
well  they  knew  how  to  choose  from  life  and  how  to 
interpret  it,"  they  say,  "  Here,  copy  these  casts ;  apart 


220        THE   NATURALISTS   AND   IDEALISTS. 

from  them  there  is  no  health  or  safety  for  you.  Nature 
is  imperfect ;  you  must  improve  on  it,  and,  imitating  the 
Grecian  and  Roman  statues,  you  will  learn  to  purge 
nature  from  all  her  imperfections."  So  saying,  the  inten- 
tion, which  is  good,  is  spoiled  by  its  application  of  ex- 
aggerated rules.  But,  I  repeat,  the  intention  is  good ; 
therefore  let  us  look  to  that  whilst  we  reject  its  appli- 
cation. On  the  other  hand,  why  should  we  despise  the 
naturalisti  in  all  that  they  have  that  is  good — I  mean,  in 
their  axioms  and  rules — which,  in  short,  putting  aside 
amplification  and  exaggeration,  means  the  imitation 
always  in  everything  of  nature?  We  have  always  ac- 
cepted and  insisted  upon  the  imitation  of  nature,  that  is 
of  beautiful  nature,  putting  aside  that  exaggeration  which 
leads  to  folly,  absurdity,  and  licence  of  conception,  and 
to  ugliness  of  form,  detail,  and  minutiae. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  mystics,  the  purists, 
colourists,  lovers  of  effect  and  barocco,  &c.  Let  us  take 
the  good  where  we  can  find  it :  not,  indeed,  make  a 
mixture,  a  medley,  as  some  have  been  fantastic  enough 
to  imagine,  by  which  we  should  arrive  directly  at  eclec- 
ticism, which  is  the  most  foolish  thing  in  this  world ;  but 
putting  our  minds  into  the  study  of  all  these  schools,  we 
shall  be  able  to  find  good  reasons  for  their  teachings. 
Separating  them  from  excess  and  exaggeration,  we  shall 
find  ourselves  in  a  wider,  clearer,  higher  atmosphere, 
and  the  impressions  that  we  receive  from  works  of  art 
will  not  produce  despondency  or  rejoicing,  our  judg- 
ments will  be  more  temperate  and  just,  and  our  own 
work  will  be  done  quicker  and  better.  This  does  not 
mean,  indeed,  that  we  are  to  remain  indifferent  before 
works  of  art.  Alas  for  the  man  who  is  indifferent !  for 
the  artist  who  before  some  work  of  art  stands  cold  and 
without  feeling  !  A  young  man  who  is  ardent,  boasting, 


AN   ARTISTIC   VISIT.  221 

and  proud,  can  correct  himself,  can  be  trained  by  diffi- 
culties and  instances,  by  emulation  or  jeering.  The 
timid  will  become  animated,  and  take  courage,  moving 
with  measured  and  cautious  steps  on  his  arduous  jour- 
ney, and,  by  reason  of  his  timid,  gentle  character,  concil- 
iate the  goodwill  of  his  masters  and  fellow-students;  but 
the  indifferent  and  cold  of  nature  has  too  much  the  air 
of  a  simpleton  or  an  arrogant  person,  and  he  is  fled 
from  and  left  in  his  stupid  ignorance. 

And  here,  gentle  reader,  is  one  of  these  happy  mortals 
who  live  their  little  day  in  dreamland.  A  person  came 
to  see  me  one  day  bringing  with  him  a  young  man  who 
might  have  borne  a  quarter  of  a  century  weight  on  his 
shoulders.  He  was  of  medium  height,  with  broad  shoul- 
ders, bent  slightly,  owing,  perhaps,  to  his  being  twenty- 
five  years  of  age ;  he  had  a  black  beard,  bronzed  com- 
plexion, and  wandering  eyes.  He  looked  all  about  him 
and  saw  nothing.  I  say  that  he  saw  nothing,  for  he  paid 
the  same  attention  to  my  cat  as  he  did  to  the  head  of  the 
Colossus  of  Monte  Cavallo,  which  stood  on  a  stand  in 
the  room,  and  to  my  "Abel "  as  he  did  to  me  or  my  stool. 
He  spoke  no  Italian,  not  even  French ;  but  the  person 
who  accompanied  him,  and  who  was  competent  in  all 
respects,  spoke  for  him,  or  rather  of  him,  for  the  young 
man  himself  never  opened  his  mouth  to  utter  a  word, 
although  he  kept  it  half  open  even  when  he  was  looking 
at  the  cat.  This  very  polite  person  said — 

"  You  will  forgive  me,  Signer  Professor,  if  I  take  you 
away  from  your  occupations  for  a  few  brief  moments; 
but  I  could  not  forego  the  pleasure  of  regaling  you  with 
a  visit  from,  and  making  you  acquainted  with,  this  young 
sculptor,  who  is  on  his  way  to  Rome,  where  he  goes, 
not,  indeed,  to  perfect  himself  as  an  artist,  but  to  prac- 
tise the  profession  which  he  has  so  nobly  and  splendidly 


222  A   GENIUS. 

illustrated  by  his  genius.  As  he  is  undoubtedly  born  to 
fame,  and  the  whole  world  will  talk  of  him,  I  wished  to 
bring  him  to  you,  and  make  you  really  acquainted,  that 
you  might  some  day  be  able  to  say,  '  I  have  seen  him 
and  spoken  with  him.'  " 

I  stood  there  like  a  bit  of  stucco,  looking  at  the  young 
man,  arid  then  at  the  person  who  had  spoken  to  me 
thus.  Then  I  answered — 

"  Tell  me,  does  this  gentleman  speak,  or  at  least 
understand,  Italian  ?  Has  he  understood  what  you  have 
just  said  of  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  he  only  speaks  English  ;  he  is  an  Ameri- 
can." 

"  The  Lord  be  thanked,"  muttered  I  to  myself,  "  that 
the  poor  young  man  understood  nothing  !  "  But  this 
polite  person,  misunderstanding  my  question,  began — 

"  Now  I  will  tell  him  what  I  have  said  to  you." 

And  he  began  in  English  to  repeat  the  little  tirade 
that  he  had  given  me,  and  this  genius  of  a  young  man 
nodded  his  head  at  every  phrase,  looking  at  me,  at  the 
stool,  and  at  the  cat ! 


223 


CHAPTER    XII. 


POMPEII— A  CAMEO— SKETCH  FOR  THE  BACCO  DELLA  CRITTOGAMA — PROFESSOR 
ANGELINI  THE  SCULPTOR — ONE  MUST  NOT  OFFER  ONE'S  HAND  WITH  TOO 
MUCH  FREEDOM  TO  LADIES — A  HARD-HEARTED  WOMAN  WITH  SMALL  IN- 
TELLIGENCE— THE  SAN  CARLO,  THE  SAN  CARLINO,  THE  FENICE,  AND  THE 
SEBETO— MONUMENT  BY  DONATELLO  AT  NAPLES — THE  BAROCCO  AND  MIS- 
TAKEN OPINIONS — DILETTANTI  IN  THE  FINE  ARTS— PRINCE  DON  SEBAS- 
TIAN OF  BOURBON  —  IS  THE  BEARD  A  SIGN  OF  BEING  LEGITIMIST  OR 
LIBERAL? — I  AM  TAKEN  FOR  A  PRINCE  OR  SOMETHING  LIKE  ONE — "THE 
BOTTLE"  FOR  DOORKEEPERS  AND  CUSTODI  OF  THE  PUBLIC  MUSEUMS 
OF  NAPLES — PHIDIAS,  DEMOSTHENES,  AND  CICERO  ALL  AGAINST  RUG- 
GERO  BONGHI. 


SUMMONED  up  all  my  little  stock  of  pa- 
tience, and  moved  slowly  towards  the  door, 
they  following  me.  Thanking  the  gentle- 
men, I  shut  them  out,  and  returned  in  silence 
to  my  work.  This  happened  some  thirty  years  ago,  nor 
as  yet  does  it  seem  as  if  the  prophecy  about  that  young 
man  were  realised. 

To  return  to  ourselves.  "Appetite  comes  with  eat- 
ing," as  the  proverb  has  it ;  and  in  fact,  by  degrees,  as 
I  visited  the  museums,  the  churches,  and  the  studios  of 
the  Neapolitan  artists,  I  felt  an  increasing  desire  to  do 
something,  to  try  again  to  draw  or  to  model,  were  it  but 
a  mere  trifle.  One  day,  after  having  gone  over  the 
whole  breadth  and  length  of  the  excavations  at  Pompeii, 
I  was  examining  a  mosaic  pavement  made  out  of  a  great 
many  pretty  little  coloured  stones,  some  of  them  broken 


224  A  LITTLE   CAMEO-HEAD. 

away  from  their  place;  and  bending  down  to  examine 
it  closer,  I  touched  one  of  the  stones.  The  custode  has- 
tened to  say  to  me,  "  Don't  touch,  signer — the  regula- 
tions prohibit  it."  It  cannot  be  denied  that  I  have  always 
been  disposed  to  respect  all  regulations;  but  since  I 
had  seen  them  broken,  even  by  those  who  ought  to  have 
been  the  first  to  respect  them,  I  had  taken  them  in 
dudgeon.  I  looked  at  the  custode,  and  he  at  me,  and 
we  understood  each  other  at  once.  I  took  a  turn,  went 
to  the  door,  looked  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  of  me, 
and  coming  back,  as  I  was  taking  something  out  of  my 
pocket  I  dropped  some  money  on  the  ground. 

My  friend  picked  it  up  for  me,  and  I  gave  him  a 
carlino.  We  returned  to  the  room  where  the  mosaic 
pavement  was.  It  represented  a  race  of  animals,  hares 
and  dogs,  on  a  yellow  ground.  Some  of  the  little  stones 
were  loose,  and  already  many  were  missing  ;  they  were 
small  squares  about  as  large  as  my  little-finger  nail.  I 
bent  down  again,  and  stretched  out  my  hand,  looking  at 
the  guard,  who  for  decency's  sake  turned  in  the  other 
direction  ;  and  I  took  the  little  stone,  on  which,  with  a 
great  deal  of  patience  and  increasing  gusto,  I  drew  and 
engraved  a  small  head  after  the  fashion  of  a  cameo, 
roughing  it  out  at  first  with  the  point  of  a  penknife,  and 
finishing  it  off  with  sharpened  needles  fastened  into 
little  handles,  which  I  used  in  the  place  of  small  chisels 
and  burins.  I  always  keep  this  little  head,  which  was 
set  in  gold  as  a  pin,  and  sometimes  wear  it  in  my  neck- 
tie. When  I  look  at  this  small  piece  of  workmanship,  I 
am  astonished  at  my  patience  and  my  eyesight  at  that 
time. 

To  tell  the  truth,  when  I  picked  up  that  little  stone 
I  had  no  idea  of  working  on  it,  but  merely  took  it  as  a 
remembrance  of  the  day  and  the  place.  In  touching  it, 


VESUVIUS  AND  ITS  LAVA.  225 

I  thought  that  it  had  been  shaped  and  put  there  by  a 
man  like  myself,  two  thousand  years  ago.  In  holding 
that  little  square  stone  between  my  fingers,  it  seemed  to 
me  as  if  my  hand  touched  the  hand  of  that  man,  who 
then  was  full  of  life.  I  thought  of  his  scant  dust,  now 
dispersed,  transformed  but  not  lost !  Where  is  this 
dust  now  ?  I,  where  was  I  then  ?  While  I  was  think- 
ing on  this,  my  good  Marina  approached,  and  said — 

"  Do  you  find  any  beauty  in  that  little  stone  ?  " 

"No.  I  was  thinking  that  it  is  very  old.  I  was 
thinking  that  it  is  a  fusion  of  fire,  and  in  substance  lava. 
But  was  not  Vesuvius  unknown  at  the  time  that  this  city 
was  constructed  ?  Could  you  imagine  that  they  would 
have  been  so  insane  as  to  have  built  on  the  outskirts  of 
a  mountain  vomiting  fire  ?  Have  you  not  observed  that 
in  all  the  many  paintings  on  these  houses,  where  you 
find  over  and  over  again  landscapes,  sea  views,  animals, 
figures,  in  fact  everything,  that  there  is  never  the  slight- 
est trace  of  a  view  of  Vesuvius  ?  If  it  had  been  there, 
surely  they  would  not  have  failed  to  reproduce  in  paint- 
ing such  a  marvellous  phenomenon.  Therefore  it  could 
not  have  been  there ;  and  yet  all  these  mosaics  are  made 
of  lava,  and  all  the  surrounding  country  at  a  certain 
distance  below  the  surface  of  the  ground  is  covered 
with  it.  It  was  not  there,  I  say,  in  their  memory ;  but 
when  was  it  there  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  ?  "  said  my  wife. 

"  I  ?— no,  indeed." 

"  Then  you  can  imagine  if  I  do." 

After  this  small  cameo,  I  wished  to  model  a  little 
figure  in  bas-relief,  which  it  was  my  intention  to  have 
executed  on  a  shell  cameo,  and  I  gave  the  order  for  it ; 
but  the  workmen  employed  for  this  kind  of  work  are  so 
unintelligent  that  if  you  take  them  away  from  the  work 

p 


226         NEW   SKETCH   OF   THE   BACCHUS. 

they  are  accustomed  to  do  almost  mechanically,  they  are 
not  able  to  succeed  in  doing  anything.  The'little  figure 
represented  Medicine.  She  was  seated  on  a  stool,  and 
with  a  little  stick  was  pushing  aside  the  bushes  to 
look  for  some  medicinal  plants ;  but  in  doing  so  a  ser- 
pent had  wound  itself  around  her  stick,  as  it  is  said  to 
have  happened  to  ^Esculapius.  Behind  the  stone  on 
which  she  is  seated  flows  a  little  stream  of  water,  to 
denote  the  salutary  action  of  water  by  which  I  was 
cured,  and  to  which  she  turns  her  back. 

I  also  made  a  new  sketch  for  the  Bacchino  della 
Crittogama,  which  was  the  one  that  I  afterwards  made 
of  life-size  on  my  return  from  Naples.  The  one  I  had 
left  behind  me  in  clay  was  very  different,  and  I  destroyed 
it.  I  had  this  new  sketch  baked,  and  I  remember 
one  day  when  I  went  to  get  it  from  the  man  who  sells 
terre  cotte,  near  Santa  Lucia,  to  whom  I  had  given  it  to 
bake,  that  I  found  him  arguing  with  a  stranger  who  had 
taken  it  absolutely  into  his  head  to  buy  it.  It  was  use- 
less for  the  man  to  say  that  the  statuette  did  not  belong  to 
him ;  that  he  could  not  sell  it ;  that  it  was  not  finished ; 
and  that  his  little  figures  of  Apollo,  the  Idolino,  Venus, 
and  Flora  were  far  better  and  more  finished  than  this 
sketch  :  he  only  kept  repeating,  "  I  like  this,  and  want 
to  buy  it ; "  and  all  persuasion  was  useless.  I  put  an 
end  to  the  discussion  in  two  words,  saying  to  the  man — 

"  Sell  it  to  him." 

"  How  much  must  I  ask  ?  " 

"  A  thousand  lire." 

At  which  the  good  touriste  immediately  put  down  the 
Bacchino,  and  went  away  in  peace.  Some  two  months 
after  this  I  presented  this  little  sketch  to  a  priest  from 
Verona,  whose  name  I  do  not  remember,  but  who 
came  to  preach  the  Lenten  sermons  at  our  cathedral 


VISIT   TO   CAVALIERE  ANGELINI.  22? 

in  Florence.  I  regret  to  have  given  it  to  him,  for  it  is 
always  well  that  a  man's  sketches  should  remain  in  his 
family,  and  also  because,  for  all  his  eloquence,  he  has 
never  since  reported  himself  to  me.  Can  he  really  be 
dead  ?  Requiem  ceternam. 

In  this  manner  the  time  passed  by,  alternating  the 
long  walks  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Naples  with  a  little 
work  and  some  artistic  visits  to  Mancinelli,  to  Balzico 
(then  but  a  young  student),  to  Smargiassi  the  landscape- 
painter,  and  to  Gigante,  the  famous  water-colourist.  I 
did  not  fail  to  try  to  find  the  sculptor  Cavaliere  Angelini, 
whom  I  had  already  known  in  Florence ;  but  for  some 
inexplicable  reason  I  could  not  see  him,  and  this  was 
what  happened.  I  went  to  his  studio,  and  his  men  told 
me  that  he  had  gone  to  the  Academy  to  lecture  to  the 
young  men.  I  went  to  the  Academy,  and  was  told  that 
he  desired  me  to  wait,  because  he  was  giving  his  lessons. 
I  waited  a  good  long  time,  and  when  he  came  out  he 
said  that  he  was  in  such  a  hurry  he  could  not  pay  any 
attention  to  me  then,  but  that  I  must  come  to  his  studio 
on  a  certain  day  at  a  certain  hour.  I  went  there  and 
knocked;  no  one  answered,  and  the  soldier  who  was 
mounting  guard  at  the  Serraglio  dei  Poveri  close  by  said 
that  every  one  had  gone  away  more  than  two  hours 
before.  It  seemed  to  me  a  little  strange,  after  having 
named  the  day  and  hour ;  but  more  or  less  forgetfulness 
in  an  artist  means  nothing — in  fact  it  is  a  sort  of  sauce 
or  dressing  to  an  artist's  character,  be  he  young  or  full- 
grown,  on  horseback  or  on  foot.  Dear  me  !  such  things 
are  easily  understood;  and  if  I  had  not  been  a  little 
tired,  I  should  not  even  have  thought  of  it,  and  would 
have  returned  another  day.  But  when,  and  at  what 
time  ?  Should  I  have  ever  found  the  door  open  ? 

My  hotel  was  very  far  from  the  poorhouse,  but  the 


228  PROFESSOR   ANGELINI. 

two  places  were  not  very  dissimilar ;  for  although  all  my 
expenses  were  paid  by  the  Grand  Duke,  it  had  not  yet 
become  the  fashion  to  squander  and  waste  after  the 
ways  of  to-day ;  and  be  it  from  education,  temperament, 
or  other  motives,  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  economise  for  that 
good  gentleman's  purse  even  more  than  for  my  own, 
and  therefore  my  inn  could  really  be  called  a  poorhouse 
in  spite  of  its  pompous  name,  for  it  was  a  third-class 
hotel ;  but  the  distance  was  great,  and,  to  mortify  the 
Professor  a  little,  I  wrote  on  his  studio  door — "  G. 
Dupre  at  home  on  such  a  day  and  such  an  hour" 

He  will  come,  he  will  certainly  come,  to  see  me  at 
my  inn  to  make  his  excuses.  Poor  Angelini !  he  is 
certainly  absent-minded,  and  am  I  not  also  absent- 
minded  ?  He  will  come  to  find  me  out.  Yes ;  I 
stayed  in  Naples  six  months,  and  never  saw  him. 
Something  beyond  absent-mindedness,  I  think ;  but  so 
it  was.  I  told  all  this  for  amusement  to  his  colleagues, 
but  they  took  it  seriously  to  heart, — so  much  so,  that 
at  one  of  their  academic  meetings  they  proposed  me  as 
an  Associate-Professor  :  and  Angelini  seemed  delighted, 
and  warmly  supported  my  nomination,  so  that  naturally 
it  was  passed;  but  I  never  went  into  his  studio.  Oh 
no. 

Yes;  I  repeat  it  ten,  twenty  times  over.  My  dear 
colleague,  this  happened  in  the  month  of  January 
1853  ;  see  what  a  good  memory  I  have.  You,  it  is 
quite  natural,  have  forgotten  it,  because  he  who  is 
guilty  of  such  things  does  not  take  heed  of  them,  neither 
should  the  person  to  whom  they  are  done,  unless  he  be 
as  black  as  Loredan,  who  wrote  down  the  death  of  the 
two  Foscari  in  his  book  of  Debit  and  Credit.  There- 
fore let  it  be  understood,  that  I  did  not  take  note  of  it, 
and  don't  remember  it ;  but  if  you  ever  take  it  into  your 


SHAKING  HANDS.  22Q 

head  to  return  to  Florence,  and,  passing  casually  through 
the  Via  della  Sapienza,  you  would  like  to  rest  a  little  in 
my  studio,  you  can  do  so ;  and  the  best  of  it  is,  that  I 
do  not  name  the  day  or  the  hour,  only  take  this  journey 
and  make  this  visit  soon,  for  we  are  now  both  old,  and 
I  shall  not  return  to  you,  for  I  am  afraid  of  finding  the 
door  shut ! 

Here  I  come  to  the  moral.  I  speak  of  artists.  The 
desire  to  see  the  works  and  also  become  acquainted 
personally  with  contemporary  artists  is  a  good  sign ;  it 
indicates  a  spirit  of  emulation,  a  wish  to  learn,  and 
form  bonds  of  friendship,  so  to  discuss  and  bring  to 
light  errors  and  doubts  on  questions  of  art.  But  if 
the  artist  with  whom  you  desire  to  speak  names  a 
certain  day  and  hour,  then  answer  at  once,  "  Thank  you 
very  much,  but  I  cannot  come."  Tell  him  this  untruth — 
it  will  be  but  a  small  sin ;  whereas  he  who  imposes  upon 
you  a  day  and  hour  gives  himself  so  much  importance 
that  he  resembles  that  ugly  and  haughty  signer  called 
Pride. 

There  are  some  medicines  so  proper  and  efficacious, 
that  once  you  have  taken  them,  you  are  radically  cured, 
and  for  good.  Angelini  cured  me  of  the  wish  to 
knock  at  studio  doors ;  and  the  Signora  Marchesini 
cured  me  of  another  habit,  formed  either  by  custom  or 
stupidity,  of  shaking  hands  with  everybody,  especially 
with  women.  The  Signora  Marchesini  was  at  that  time 
(I  am  speaking  of  about  thirty  years  ago)  an  aristocratic 
lady  of  a  certain  age  — one  of  those  persons  who,  without 
even  taking  the  trouble  to  turn  to  look  at  any  one  who 
came  to  see  her,  would  answer  the  salutation  and  bow 
prescribed  by  good  breeding  with  an  addio  and  a  "good 
evening  "  when  one  took  leave,  were  it  even  at  mid- 
night. Such  was  the  Signora  Marchesini. 


230  EMBRACING   FRIENDS. 

One  night  I  went  into  her  box  at  the  Pergola,  and 
going  up  to  her  I  bowed  and  put  out  my  hand.  Ass 
that  I  was  !  I  did  not  know  that  this  act  of  familiarity 
was  not  allowed  to  inferiors ;  and  putting  aside  nobility 
of  birth,  I  was  her  junior  by  thirty  years,  and  perhaps 
this  offended  the  austere  lady  more  than  anything  else. 
The  lesson,  however,  was  a  good  one;  and  from  that 
day,  in  fact  from  that  evening,  I  have  never  since 
been  the  first  to  offer  my  hand  to  any  woman,  old  or 
young.  All  this  nonsense  reminds  me  of  a  much  rougher 
and  more  vulgar  instance  of  haughtiness,  from  which 
my  beloved  wife  was  the  sufferer.  She  was  as  simple 
and  good,  poor  darling,  as  the  woman  who  offended 
her  was  hard  and  proud. 

I  had  gone  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  friend  of  mine,  a 
gentleman  of  noble  birth,  education,  and  tact,  with 
whom  I  had  friendly  relations.  My  wife  was  with  me, 
and  he  was  in  the  drawing-room  with  his,  who  was 
French  by  birth,  much  younger  than  himself,  and  whom 
he  had  lately  married.  As  soon  as  my  friend  saw  me 
he  spread  out  his  arms,  and  we  embraced  each  other ; 
my  wife,  with  a  feeling  of  spontaneous  tenderness, 
pressed  forward  to  embrace  the  young  lady,  but  she 
drew  back,  perhaps  not  thinking  it  beseeming  or  accord- 
ing to  etiquette  to  embrace  a  woman  the  first  time  she 
saw  her,  even  although  she  was  much  older  than  her- 
self. My  poor  Marina,  with  her  purity  of  soul,  did  not 
feel  offended,  but  turning  to  me  she  timidly  asked, 
"Have  I  done  wrong?" 

"You  !  no,  my  dear;  but  another  time  stand  on  your 
own  ground.  That  woman  did  not  deserve  to  be  em- 
braced by  you." 

My  friend  took  no  notice  of  anything,  and  shortly 
after  we  left  the  house.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  this 


AMUSEMENTS  AT   NAPLES.  231 

remembrance  goads  me  more  and  more  every  day;  it 
stimulates  my  love  for  her  who  now  smiles  at  all  these 
miseries — she  who  was  so  worthy  of  all  honours,  who 
desired  and  was  able  to  keep  herself  always  good,  mild, 
and  compassionate — a  good  wife,  a  good  mother,  truly 
a  lady  by  her  virtues,  and  not  by  reason  of  her  birth 
and  riches.  More  I  should  like  to  say,  but  cannot ;  I 
look  with  anxious  love  for  the  words  that  fail  me,  and  I 
think  that  the  innermost  lineaments  of  that  temperate, 
strong,  patient  soul  can  be  felt  but  cannot  be  portrayed. 
I  continued  to  get  better  and  better  in  Naples.  The 
medical  man  insisted  that  I  should  walk  a  great  deal 
and  take  simple  and  abundant  food — a  little  soup,  roast- 
beef,  and  a  plate  of  vegetables,  and  nothing  else,  for 
dinner;  for  breakfast,  after  my  bath  and  walk,  a  glass 
of  cold  milk  and  some  bread.  As  a  distraction  for  my 
mind,  he  recommended  my  seeing  and  talking  with 
people  I  liked,  and  going  to  the  theatre  of  an  evening. 
At  first  the  theatre  bored  me ;  I  did  not  understand 
those  little  bouffe  comedies  in  dialect  at  the  Fenice  and 
San  Carlino,  and  all  those  repartees  of  Punchinello  irri- 
tated me.  It  was  bad  for  me  to  go  to  the  San  Carlo, 
where  they  were  giving  the  '  Trovatore '  with  the  Penco, 
Fraschini,  and  the  Borghi-mamo,  and  'Othello'  with 
the  Pancani,  for  they  made  me  weep,  not  on  account 
of  the  dramas  themselves,  which  I  already  knew,  but  on 
account  of  the  music,  which  had  such  a  strong  effect  on 
my  nerves.  For  these  reasons  I  was  obliged  to  give  up 
the  music  at  San  Carlo,  and  'Punch'  at  San  Carlino 
and  the  Fenice,  and  took  refuge  in  the  Sebeto,  a  very 
small  theatre,  where  for  the  most  part  were  represented 
dramas  in  bad  taste,  artistically  speaking,  but  not  as  far 
as  morals  are  concerned — exaggerated  characters,  forced 
situations  to  create  immoderate  effects,  &c., — in  fact, 


232  CHURCHES   AT   NAPLES. 

dramas  of  the  Federici  stamp,  to  touch  the  hearts  of 
the  populace,  but  not  calculated  to  influence  them  with 
voluptuousness,  the  more  dangerous  when  veiled  in  the 
attractive,  graceful,  and  polished  forms  of  cunning  so- 
phistry. Then  these  dramas  were  not  in  dialect,  and 
'  Punch'  only  came  in  at  the  farce,  and  for  such  a  very 
small  part  that  I  could  bear  him,  and  little  by  little 
began  to  understand  and  appreciate  him.  As  I  have 
already  said,  the  theatre  was  a  necessity  for  me,  and  it 
entered  into  my  sage's  system  of  treatment;  but  he  added 
that  I  was  not  to  take  the  recreation  by  myself,  but  in 
the  company  of  my  wife  and  child,  and  with  as  much 
ease  as  possible,  so  that  it  was  necessary  to  take  a  small 
box,  which,  as  the  theatre  was  so  small  and  unpretend- 
ing, was  not  a  very  great  expense.  Perhaps  the  idea 
of  economy  never  once  occurred  to  the  generous  sover- 
eign who  came  to  my  aid,  but  I  used  to  think  of  it,  as  I 
have  before  said. 

Thus,  with  so  much  to  divert  my  mind,  during  the 
day  going  to  see  the  public  monuments  and  the  churches 
in  which  this  immense  city  is  so  rich,  and  at  evening 
to  the  theatre,  my  recovery  was  completed.  Nor  were 
there  wanting  splendid  works  of  art,  besides  the  col- 
lection of  ancient  bronzes,  unique  in  the  world,  and 
wonderfully  useful  to  the  students  of  sculpture.  The 
Church  of  San  Gennaro,  with  its  monuments,  amongst 
which  are  those  of  Carlo  d'Angio,  Carlo  Martello,  and 
Clemenza  his  wife ;  San  Paolo,  built  on  the  ruins  of 
the  Roman  theatre  where  Nero  used  to  appear  in  pub- 
lic and  declaim  his  verses,  and  where  Metronate  gave 
his  lessons  in  philosophy,  which  were  attended  by 
Seneca  as  his  pupil  (what  a  lesson  to  young  men  !) ; 
Santa  Chiara,  with  its  monuments  to  the  ancient  kings 
of  Naples,  which  once  was  all  frescoed  over  by  Giotto, 


INDIFFERENCE   TO  WHAT   IS   NEAR   US.      233 

and  has  been  most  barbarously  whitewashed  by  Berio 
Nuovo ;  Sant'  Angelo  a  Nilo,  with  that  splendid  monu- 
ment to  Cardinal  Brancaccio,  one  of  Donatello's  finest 
works  ;  and  San  Domenico  Maggiore, — all  these  monu- 
ments, as  much  for  their  beauty  as  for  the  historical  re- 
cords they  contain,  are  worthy  of  the  greatest  attention 
and  study,  and  are  calculated  to  inspire  ideas  and  a 
desire  to  work. 

But  often  it  happens  that  the  most  valuable  things 
one  has,  so  to  speak,  at  one's  very  door,  are  not  thought 
anything  of — not  even  noticed ;  and  such  was  the  case 
then  with  some  artists  in  Naples,  who  either  did  not 
remember  or  were  not  acquainted  with  their  own  artis- 
tic treasures.  I  remember  a  young  sculptor  who  often 
lamented  that  Naples  was  wanting  in  art  of  the  middle 
ages.  I  reminded  him  of  the  monuments  above  men- 
tioned, dwelling  especially  on  that  by  Donatello,  to 
which  he  answered  that  he  did  not  know  it.  "Go 
to  see  it,"  I  said ;  "it  is  unpardonable  in  you  not  to 
know  it." 

After  some  time  I  saw  the  youth,  and  said  to  him — 

"  Well,  did  you  see  the  monument  by  Donatello,  and 
what  did  you  think  of  it?"  to  which  he  answered,  "I 
found  that  I  had  already  seen  it  once  before,  but  did 
not  remember  it." 

"  Then,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "  there  is  an  end  of  all 
hope  for  you." 

It  is  certainly  a  most  painful  fact  that  some  of  the 
finest  works  of  our  elders  are  either  entirely  ignored  or 
not  cared  for,  but  it  is  most  sad  when  this  indifference 
comes  from  young  men  who  have  dedicated  them- 
selves to  art.  That  the  usual  ignorant  ciceroni  who  show 
strangers  the  sepulchral  chapel  of  the  Princes  of  Sangro 
take  no  notice  of  the  monument  by  Donatello  is  natural 


234  CICERONI   AND   THEIR   IDEAS. 

enough,  but  it  is  none  the  less  disgusting  to  hear  them 
pouring  forth  their  opinions  after  the  following  fashion  : 
"  See,  gentlemen,  these  statues  are  the  stupendous  work 
of  the  famous  Venetian  Antonio  Corradini.  Observe  the 
two  statues  that  stand  in  the  arch  by  the  columns  of 
the  high  altar ;  they  are  miracles  of  sculpture ;  one  is  by 
Corradini,  and  one  by  Quieroli.  The  first  represents 
the  mother  of  the  Prince  Don  Raimondo,  who  restored 
and  enriched  this  chapel — which  was  founded  by  the 
Prince  Don  Francesco  in  1590 — with  precious  marble. 
The  statue  represents  Modesty — one  of  the  principal 
virtues  that  distinguished  the  Princess.  See,  gentlemen, 
she  is  enveloped  in  a  transparent  veil,  beneath  which  is 
revealed  the  whole  of  her  figure :  this  is  a  method  of 
sculpture  unknown  even  to  the  Greeks,  for  the  ancients 
only  painted  their  draperies,  but  did  not  cut  them  in 
marble.  The  other  prodigy  of  art  is  a  statue  represent- 
ing the  father  of  the  Prince  himself  as  '  Disinganno.'  In 
this  statue  behold  a  man  caught  in  a  net ;  you  see  all 
the  meshes  of  the  net,  and  inside  it  the  body  itself." 
The  stranger,  meantime,  stands  there  open-mouthed, 
admiring  these  statues,  in  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  one 
could  not  too  deeply  deplore  the  time  and  patience  that 
have  been  wasted  on  work  whose  only  object  is  to  arrest 
the  attention  of  vulgar  people,  who  take  all  these  ma- 
terial and  mechanical  difficulties  for  the  essential  and 
only  aim  in  art.  All  this,  I  repeat,  is  disgusting  if  you 
like,  and  rather  ridiculous ;  but  the  people  of  the  country, 
and  most  particularly  artists,  ought  to  laugh  at  such 
works  as  these,  as  well  as  their  admirers.  This  mania 
for  the  difficult  and  surprising,  to  the  detriment  of 
beauty  itself,  which  is  so  simple,  has  carried  corrup- 
tion into  art  itself  as  well  as  to  its  amateurs  —  so 
much  so,  that  dresses  of  rich  stuffs,  embroideries,  laces, 


CHEAP   PRAISE.  235 

and  like  trifles,  which  need  but  a  little  patience  and 
practice  to  produce,  have  to-day  become  so  much  in 
vogue  as  to  really  make  one  fear  that  art  is  in  danger, 
and  that  research  and  study  to  reproduce  the  beautiful 
will  be  replaced  by  work  of  a  sort  of  asinine  patience, 
which  surprises  and  impresses  only  simple-minded,  vulgar 
people,  and  dilettanti.  And  apropos  of  dilettanti,  I  wish 
to  express  my  opinion  that  although  they  may  take- plea- 
sure in  painting  and  sculpture  they  are  not  of  the  slight- 
est use  to  these  arts.  Dilettanti  are  generally  gentle- 
men— fine  gentlemen,  sometimes  even  princes — and  in 
consequence  of  their  station  and  wealth,  are  surrounded 
by  a  cloud  of  small-minded  people,  who,  owing  to  the 
respect  and  deference  they  feel  for  them,  are  induced  to 
praise  them.  This  cheap  praise,  which  is  taken  so  un- 
ceremoniously, engenders  in  those  who  give  it  a  false  and 
sophistical  tone,  with  which  they  quiet  their  consciences, 
ever  muttering,  "You  ought  not  to  have  said  this  ;  it  is 
not  just — it  is  not  true."  As  this  internal  grumbling  is 
irksome,  the  mind  builds  up  a  sort  of  reasoning  that 
holds  out  as  long  as  it  can,  and  then  falls  for  want  of 
that  solid  foundation,  Truth,  that  alone  can  uphold  any 
structure,  be  it  scientific,  artistic,  or  literary.  With  him 
who  receives  the  praise,  matters  go  far  more  easily;  he 
does  not  give  it  another  thought,  or  if  he  does,  it  is  from 
excess  of  vanity  that  he  sniffs  the  remaining  odour  from 
that  small  cloud  of  incense. 

In  Naples  there  were  two  of  these  dilettanti  princes, 
— one  a  painter,  the  other  a  sculptor.  His  Royal  High- 
ness Don  Sebastian,  Prince  of  Bourbon,  brother-in-law 
of  the  King  of  Naples,  was  the  painter,  and  His  Royal 
Highness  Count  of  Syracuse,  brother  of  the  same  king, 
was  the  sculptor.  The  last  named  died  a  little  after  the 
revolution  in  1860,  and  of  his  artistic  merits  I  have 


236  A   DILETTANTI   PRINCE. 

already  spoken.  I  shall  therefore  now  say  two  words 
about  his  Highness  Don  Sebastian.  I  had  the  honour 
of  being  presented  to  him  by  the  Grand  Duke  Leopold, 
who  was  at  that  time  in  Naples  with  his  daughter  the 
Princess  Isabella,  married  to  Count  Trapani,  who  was 
expecting  to  be  confined.  Having  been  some  time  in 
Naples  myself,  I  went  to  pay  my  homage  to  him,  and 
he  then  made  me  acquainted  with  his  Highness  Don 
Sebastian,  who  was  without  pretensions,  a  simple,  modest 
man.  He  asked  for  advice,  and  he  asked  for  it  with 
such  eagerness  and  persistency  that  it  showed  a  desire 
to  know  the  absolute  truth,  that  he  might  correct  him- 
self— and  not  truth  disguised  under  a  veil  of  complimen- 
tary praise,  which  only  misleads.  And  I,  with  the 
mildest  words  that  I  could  find  in  the  vocabulary  of 
truth,  gave  him  briefly  and  generally  some  advice ;  for 
his  wish  to  do  something  really  good  was  above  his 
school  and  the  studies  he  had  followed.  Although,  as  I 
have  said,  he  had  a  sincere  desire  to  hear  the  truth,  yet 
I  became  aware  that  the  language  I  used  was  quite  new 
to  him.  I  can  add,  however,  that  he  did  not  feel  hurt 
by  it,  as  he  often  wished  to  see  me  and  hear  me,  and 
corrected  himself  or  tried  to  do  so  in  many  things,  thus 
indicating  confidence  and  goodwill.  At  this  time  he 
was  painting  a  large  picture  for  an  altar,  which  he  pre- 
sented to  the  church  of  San  Giacomo  degli  Spagnuoli, 
above  Toledo,  and  I  remember  that  he  gave  me  a  draw- 
ing of  it.  He  had  taken  refuge  in  Naples  with  the  king 
his  brother-in-law,  owing  to  the  part  he  had  taken  as  a 
Legitimist  against  the  government  of  Queen  Isabella,  who 
had  confiscated  all  his  revenues ;  and  he  mitigated  the 
bitterness  of  exile  and  poverty  by  his  devoted  love  for 
art.  After  some  time  he  was  restored  to  his  country, 
and  reinstated  in  his  property,  so  that  at  last  he  must 


BEARDS   IN   NAPLES.  237 

have  comforted  himself  with  his  own  bread,  having 
known  how  salt  was  that  of  exile.  He  returned  to  his 
country,  and  who  knows  if  he  did  not  cut  off  his  beard, 
which  he  used  to  wear  full  and  long,  after  the  fashion  of 
Spanish  Legitimists?  Strange  to  say,  in  Italy  at  that 
time,  especially  in  Naples,  a  beard  was  the  sign  of  just 
the  contrary — that  is  to  say,  of  a  Liberal;  and  the 
annoyances  caused  by  the  police  on  this  account  were 
so  ridiculous  as  to  be  quite  disgusting.  One  was 
obliged,  however,  to  conform  to  all  this,  for  if  a  young 
man  desired  not  to  be  exposed  to  worse  annoyances,  he 
was  obliged  to  shave  his  chin.  He  might  keep  his 
moustache  and  whiskers  after  the  German  fashion,  or 
wear  his  whiskers  alone  like  the  English — he  was  quite 
free  to  do  that ;  but  a  beard  on  his  chin,  be  it  long  or 
short,  indicated  Liberalism  :  and  as  I  have  said,  he  was 
immediately  marked  by  the  agents  of  Del  Carretto, 
Minister  of  Police,  and,  willing  or  no,  was  obliged  to 
shave  to  avoid  something  worse.  At  that  time,  there- 
fore, the  manliness  of  a  Neapolitan  showed  itself  every- 
where": but  on  his  chin.  In  all  Naples — with  the  rare 
exception  of  some  foreigner,  the  Prince  Don  Sebastian, 
who  was  anything  but  a  Liberal,  the  Count  of  Syracuse, 
and  Count  of  Aquila,  brothers  of  the  king,  whom  the 
police  hounds  could  growl  at  but  not  bite — not  for  a 
million  of  money  could  a  beard  be  seen,  unless  it  were 
mine,  which,  although  not  so  luxuriant  as  it  is  now,  was 
still  more  than  enough  for  the  police. 

During  the  days  that  the  Grand  Duke  remained  in 
Naples,  he  desired  to  see  the  museums  and  other  monu- 
ments of  this  great  city,  and  wished  me  to  accompany 
him,  out  of  simple  kindness,  for  his  Highness  acted 
as  my  guide,  being  much  better  acquainted  with  them 
than  I  was.  This  driving  up  and  down  the  streets  of 


238  I   PASS   FOR  A  PRINCE. 

Naples  in  a  Court  carriage,  with  a  full  beard  on  my 
face,  upset  all  the  ideas  of  those  poor  sbirri.  Some 
people  took  me  for  a  Spanish  Legitimist ;  and  others — 
especially  the  sentinels  at  the  palace — christened  me  at 
once  a  relation  of  the  royal  family, — so  much  so,  that 
they  presented  arms  to  me  every  time  I  passed  by. 
Must  I  admit  that  I  took  pleasure  in  this,  returning  their 
salute  and  passing  before  them  as  if  I  had  been  a  true 
prince  ?  "  Viva  my  beard  ! "  said  I  to  myself;  "  but  see 
how  things  are  going  in  this  country  !  Some  people  are 
sent  almost  to  the  gallows  for  wearing  a  beard,  and  to 
me  they  are  presenting  arms.  One  evening,  however, 
even  I  came  very  near  being  sent  to  prison.  I  was 
walking  in  the  Strada  Toledo,  and  about  to  return  home. 
Near  the  turning  of  the  Orefici  by  the  Palazzo  dei  Minis- 
teri,  there  was  a  print-shop  lighted  by  a  reflected  lamp, 
that  threw  a  light  upon  it  as  brilliant  as  day.  There 
were  some  French  engravings,  such  as  the  Death  of 
Richelieu,  the  Death  of  the  Duke  de  Guise,  and  I 
know  not  what  else.  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder; 
turning  round  I  saw  some  one  gazing  attentively  at  me, 
and  before  I  had  time  to  ask  him  what  he  wanted,  some 
one  else  took  the  man  by  the  arm  and  said,  "  Don't 
occupy  yourself  with  him  ;  he  is  one  of  the  royal  house- 
hold;" and  away  they  went  in  the  crowd,  and  I  saw 
them  no  more. 

I  hurried  home,  for  fear  of  finding  others  who  might 
not  share  the  same  opinion.  My  wife  and  little  one 
were  waiting  for  me  to  go  to  the  theatre,  and  I  re- 
member that  they  were  then  giving  '  Edmondo  Dante, 
Count  of  Monte  Cristo,'  a  monstrous  production  which 
lasted  twelve  hours — divided,  however,  into  three  even- 
ings. My  little  box  was  on  the  first  tier  near  the  or- 
chestra, —  and  such  an  orchestra  !  Two  violins,  one 


LA  BOTTIGLIA.  239 

double-bass,  a  clarionet,  and  a  flute,  the  music  being 
pieces  adapted  from  the  '  Trovatore ' ;  and  such  an  ad- 
aptation !  Good  heavens  !  All  this  cost  me — that  is  to 
say,  cost  the  Grand  Duke — four  carlini,  including  "  the 
bottle,"  for  in  Naples  one  must  always  pay  for  "  the 
bottle  "  to  every  one.  Really  in  that  fortunate  country 
one  required  to  have  a  carlino  always  in  hand.  I  don't 
know  how  it  is  now,  but  then  every  one  was  constantly 
drinking.  Ushers,  inspectors,  custodi — all  asked  for 
"  this  bottle  "  with  the  utmost  frankness  and  in  perfect 
seriousness.  I,  who  went  often  to  the  museum,  wished 
to  have  my  cane  to  lean  on,  as  there  were  no  chairs  to 
sit  down  on  ;  but  "  No,  sir," — the  porter,  with  his  great 
cocked-hat,  came  and  took  it  away,  having  the  right  to 
do  so,  as  it  was  against  the  regulations.  When  I  left  he 
gave  it  back  to  me,  always  saying,  "  Your  Excellency, 
the  bottle,"  pronouncing  these  words  with  such  dignity 
that  you  would  have  thought  they  were  part  of  the  royal 
regulations ;  and  I  used  to  give  it — that  is  to  say,  a  half- 
carlino  at  every  section.  Pompeian  paintings,  statues 
and  bronzes,  Etruscan  vases,  Renaissance  paintings  and 
drawings — each  had  a  custode,  and  all  wanted  a  drink. 
Perhaps  now  they  are  no  longer  thirsty,  which  will  be  all 
the  better  for  the  poor  visitor.  I  paid  these  half-bottles, 
or  rather  ha\f-cartim,  most  unwillingly,  for  to  be  always 
paying  out  is  in  itself  most  tiresome ;  and  I  was  more 
out  of  temper  than  really  tired,  not  being  able  to  find  a 
seat  anywhere.  One  day  a  painter  who  was  copying 
there  was  moved  to  pity,  and  offered  me  his  stool.  It 
is  not  unnatural  that  a  man  who  was  both  poor  and  un- 
well, should  be  unwilling  to  pay  out  money  in  gratuities, 
and  should  look  upon  that  given  to  the  porter  as  the 
hardest  part  of  all,  as  it  was  to  pay  him  merely  for  taking 
away  the  stick  he  had  to  lean  on.  The  consequence  was, 


240      FEES   FOR  ADMISSION   TO   THE   GALLERIES. 

that  not  being  able  to  bear  this  lucro  cessante  and  danno 
emergente,  as  they  say  in  law,  I  made  bold  to  say  to  this 
high  personage  (he  was  at  least  a  palm  taller  than  I), 
"  Listen,  signer ;  I  will  no  longer  give  you  the  bottle." 

"  Why  not,  Excellency  ?  " 

"  Because  you  take  away  my  stick,  which  would  be  a 
comfort  for  me  to  lean  on." 

"  Well,  well,"  he  answered,  "  keep  your  stick,  Excel- 
lency ;  but  remember  the  bottle." 

"  I  understand,  I  quite  understand — and  add  a  little 
more  to  it." 

And  the  eyes  of  that  Argus  brightened,  although  he 
was  by  way  of  shutting  them  as  far  as  the  regulations 
were  concerned.  The  necessity  for  drinking,  it  seems, 
belongs  to  this  people,  and  it  must  be  on  account  of 
the  hot  air  they  breathe,  all  impregnated  with  the  salt 
from  the  sea.  Therefore  I  fancy  this  desire  of  theirs 
has  not  yet  been  allayed,  for  even  I  drank  a  great 
deal  when  I  was  there,  only  it  was  water,  which  is  so 
good,  so  fresh,  so  light,  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  drink ; 
but  alas  !  so  many  prefer  "  the  bottle."  If,  however, 
even  against  the  natural  order  of  the  country,  this  has 
been  suppressed  amongst  the  subalterns,  it  has  been 
adopted  by  the  heads  themselves,  as  the  Minister  of 
Public  Instruction  has  decreed  an  entrance-tax  for  every 
one  who  wishes  to  see  in  our  galleries  the  works  of 
Raphael,  Michael  Angelo,  or  our  other  glorious  fathers, 
who  in  their  simplicity  certainly  never  thought  of  being 
obliged  to  show  themselves  at  so  much  a  head  like  some 
wild  beasts. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  (which  induces  me  to  think  that 
thirst  must  be  in  the  air  of  Naples)  that  this  bottle-tax 
was  instituted  by  a  Neapolitan,  the  Honourable  Ruggero 
Bonghi,  who,  be  it  said  with  all  due  respect,  seems  to  be 


ADMISSION  FEES  TO  THE  PUBLIC  GALLERIES.    24! 

less  anxious  for  the  decorum  of  art  and  the  advantage  of 
artists  than  for  an  economy  which,  to  say  the  truth,  is 
but  a  shabby  one.  I  know  quite  well  that  artists  are  free 
from  this  tax,  but  they  must  be  provided  with  a  certifi- 
cate, which  is  always  a  restriction;  and  it  is  also  true  that 
artists,  and  those  who  are  not  artists,  can  enjoy  free  en- 
trance, but  only  onfesta  days.  It  comes  to  the  same  as 
if  to  one  who  said,  "I  am  hungry,"  you  answered,  "You 
shall  eat  next  week."  Is  it  believed  that  only  those 
students  who  are  provided  with  certificates  are  to  become 
artists  ?  Art  learns  more  from  example  than  from  pre- 
cept, as  it  is  with  every  other  thing.  I  should  be  curious 
to  know  if  Demosthenes  and  Cicero  lived  before  or  after 
the  Treatise  on  Eloquence,  or  if  Phidias  studied  at  the 
Academy,  and  paid  a  tax  for  admission.  Then,  also,  this 
is  the  common  property  of  all,  and  therefore  its  advan- 
tages should  not  be  restricted.  The  answer  is,  that  the 
entrance-tax  is  used  for  the  maintenance  and  decorum 
of  the  galleries  themselves.  The  decorum  and  support 
of  the  public  galleries  never  suffered  from  the  want  of 
this  in  bygone  days ;  why  should  they  feel  the  need  of  it 
to-day  ? 


242 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


NEVER  MAKE  A  PRESENT  OF  YOUR  WORKS — POPE  REZZON1CO  BY  CANOVA— 
TENERANI — OVERBECK's  THEORIES— MINARDI  AND  HIS  SCHOOL — A  WOMAN 
FROM  THE  TRASTEVERE  WHO  LOOKED  LIKE  THE  VENUS  OF  MILO — CONVEN- 
TIONALISTS AND  REALISTS — AN  AMBITIOUS  QUESTION  AND  BITTER  ANSWER 
— FILIPPO  GUALTERIO. 


|  HE  church  of  Gesu  Nuovo  was  at  that  time 
under  the  ordinance  of  the  Jesuit  Fathers, 
and  one  of  these  fathers,  who  was  devoted 
to  the  church,  set  on  foot  a  work  which 
did  him  much  honour.  Though  the  church  was  beau- 
tiful in  its  design  and  decorations  and  rich  in  marbles, 
the  high  altar  was  of  wood,  and  this  was  quite  out  of 
keeping  with  the  general  effect.  Padre  Grossi,  who  was 
as  learned  as  he  was  zealous  in  his  religion  and  a  lover 
of  art,  made  the  resolve  that  this  altar  should  be  entirely 
renewed  and  reconstructed  of  precious  marble,  and  he 
succeeded  in  carrying  this  into  effect.  Everybody  con- 
tributed— the  Court,  the  nobility,  the  people,  owners  of 
marble,  and  artists.  It  was  not,  however,  yet  finished ; 
some  ornaments  were  still  wanting,  and  among  these  the 
panels  of  the  pyx.  I  was  asked  by  Padre  Grossi  to 
make  a  model  for  this  to  be  cast  in  silver,  and  I  cheer- 
fully accepted  the  commission.  The  subject,  which  was 
singular  and  unusual,  but  extremely  pleasing,  was  sug- 
gested to  me  by  the  Padre  himself.  It  represented  a 


MY   MENTAL  CONDITION.  243 

youthful  female  figure,  accompanied  by  an  angel,  at  the 
foot  of  the  altar,  who  came  to  partake  of  the  mystic 
bread.  As  soon  as  I  had  finished  the  model,  I  sent  it 
to  Padre  Grossi,  who  expressed  his  satisfaction  with  it. 
Not  so  the  superior  and  the  other  fathers,  to  whom  the 
subject  seemed  to  be  too  unusual.  The  superior  wrote 
me  a  very  courteous  letter  of  thanks,  the  substance  of 
which,  stripped  of  all  its  sweet  and  useless  phrases,  was 
that  he  could  not  give  his  approval  to  the  work.  I  then 
took  back  my  model  and  presented  it  to  Professor  Tom- 
maso  Aloysio  Juvara,  who  kept  it  as  a  pleasant  memorial 
of  me ;  and  thus  this  work  also,  which  was  intended  as  a 
present,  fell  through. 

The  time  for  my  return  to  Florence  now  drew  near, 
for  my  health  could  now  be  considered  as  quite  restored, 
save  that  a  slight  melancholy  still  hung  about  me,  in- 
duced by  an  importunate  and  persistent  feeling  that 
made  me  doubt  my  own  powers  to  overcome  the  diffi- 
culties of  art,  and  of  that  art  upon  which  I  had  at  first 
entered,  as  it  were,  in  triumph.  I  was  oppressed  by  a 
torpor  or  indecision,  a  sense  of  something  vague  and 
undefined,  resembling  that  state  of  moral  weakness  which 
shows  itself  in  sudden  impulses  and  as  sudden  prostra- 
tions— all  indications  of  lively  fancy  and  active  sensi- 
bility, together  with  a  great  weakness  of  judgment  and 
will.  In  a  word,  I  had  become  a  coward.  In  my 
excited  imagination  I  felt  the  beauty  of  art,  but  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  lay  hold  of  it,  and  express  it,  and 
reproduce  it.  I  desired  to  go  back  to  my  first  steps,  and 
so  felt  my  vanity  offended.  The  hello  ideale,  ill  defined 
and  ill  understood,  smiled  upon  me  with  all  its  flattering 
and  illusory  charms.  At  slight  intervals  I  seemed  to  feel 
these  allurements,  and  then  again  I  suddenly  fell  into 
uncertainty. 


244  STATUE   OF   POPE   REZZONICO. 

"  E  quale  e  quei,  che  disvuol  cio  che  voile 

E  per  novi  pensier  cangia  proposta;  "J 

this  was  my  state,  and  it  afflicted  me. 

The  decision  which  was  to  overcome  all  my  uncer- 
tainty came  to  me  from  an  idealist,  or  rather  from  an 
imitator  of  Greek  art,  Canova,  and  from  one  of  his 
works  not  drawn  from  the  ideal,  but  from  life.  I  was 
about  to  return  from  Rome  to  Florence,  when,  as  I  stood 
looking  vaguely  about  one  morning  in  St  Peter's,  a  prey 
to  fleeting  and  changeable  thoughts,  my  eyes  were  arrested 
by  the  statue  of  Pope  Rezzonico.  How  often  I  had 
looked  at  that  grandiose  monument  and  passed  on ! 
This  time  the  movement  and  expression  of  concentrated 
feeling  in  this  statue,  united  with  a  sentiment  of  imitation 
so  strong,  and  yet  so  free  from  minute  and  servile  detail, 
made  a  great  impression  on  me;  and  this  was  all  the 
more  vivid,  because  I  could  confront  it  with  the  other 
statues  of  the  same  monument,  all  of  which  are  charac- 
terised by  mannerism  and  imitation  of  the  antique.  This 
comparison  stood  me  in  stead  of  the  most  powerful  of 
reasonings  and  criticism,  and  I  seemed  to  hear  a  voice 
issue  from  those  marbles  which  said,  "See  the  great 
affection  and  study  that  Canova  has  given  to  these 
statues,  and  still  they  do  not  speak  to  your  heart  like 
that  praying  figure  of  the  Pope.  Why  is  this  ?  Re- 
flect ! "  And,  in  fact,  I  know  no  subject  more  worthy 
of  consideration  than  to  seek  among  the  statues  of 
Canova  for  the  reasons  of  his  oscillation  between  the 
imitation  of  nature  and  the  imitation  of  the  antique ;  for 
exactly  here  is  the  knot  of  that  grave  question  which 
even  to-day  keeps  artists  divided  into  two  schools — that 
of  the  Academicians  and  that  of  the  veristi. 

1  "  And  like  to  one  who  unwills  what  he  wills, 
And  changes  for  new  thoughts  his  purposes." 

— DANTE  :  Inferno,  Canto  ii. 


CANOVA  AND   THE   BELLO   IDEALE.          245 

Doubtless  nature  is  the  foundation  of  art,  as  beauty  is  its 
object;  and  to  forget  either  one  or  the  other  is  to  fall  into 
error.  If  we  kept  these  two  cardinal  points  in  our  mind, 
and  made  them  both  subjects  of  study  in  our  works,  all 
our  discussions  and  disputes  would  cease.  But  it  too 
often  happens  that  the  Academicians,  holding  too  strong- 
ly to  the  beautiful  as  the  end  to  be  attained,  forget  that  its 
foundation  is  in  the  truth  or  nature ;  while  the  Realists, 
blindly  trusting  to  nature,  which  when  it  is  not  subjected 
to  selection  is  a  bad  foundation,  lose  sight  of  the  true 
end,  which  is  beauty.  Now  in  the  works  of  Canova  we 
see  a  constant  endeavour  to  harmonise  the  beautiful 
with  nature ;  but  as  the  cry  of  bello  ideale  (a  magic 
phrase  invented  at  that  time)  was  then  loved,  with  the 
painter  David  leading  the  chorus,  and  the  imperial 
cannon  sounding  the  accompaniment,  the  interior  voices 
and  protests  of  the  Christian  artificers  were  either 
drowned  or  lifted  to  the  hundred  pagan  deities  whom 
the  epicurean  philosophy  of  the  time  demanded,  and  to 
whom  they  burned  their  incense.  But  the  genius  which 
nature  had  given  to  this  great  artist  triumphed  over  the 
tendencies  of  his  time,  over  the  cry  of  pedants  and  the 
imperial  favours ;  and  the  Pope  Rezzonico,  and  Pius 
VI.,  and  the  Magdalen,  are  there  to  demonstrate  the 
singular  force  of  that  genius  which  alone  battled  against 
the  torrent  of  the  schools  and  the  tyranny  and  customs 
of  his  age.  These  works  of  his  are  rays  of  that  light 
which  first  illuminated  the  mind  of  this  great  artist, 
when,  still  young  and  free  in  his  inspirations,  and  un- 
biassed by  rules,  counsel,  and  praise,  he  conceived  and 
executed  that  wonderful  group  of  Icarus. 

In  this  careful  spirit  of  examination  and  reasoning  I 
again  reviewed  and  studied  the  masterpieces  of  ancient 
and  modern  art,  and  many  of  the  judgments  which  had 


246  TENERANI  AND   OVERBECK. 

been  distorted  by  my  poor  brain  during  my  first  visit 
were  afterwards  rectified.  I  became  attached  with  rev- 
erent friendship  to  Minardi,  Tenerani,  and  Overbeck; 
and  although  all  three  followed  the  school  of  the  mys- 
tical ideal,  which  was  far  from  conformable  to  the  rich 
and  inexhaustible  variety  of  nature,  I  admired  in  them 
their  profound  conviction  in  the  excellence  of  their 
school ;  and  although  Tenerani  united  to  his  mysticism 
the  graces  of  antique  form,  still  it  seemed  to  me  that 
precisely  on  this  account  he  was  often  a  timid  friend 
to  nature.  When,  however,  he  was  not  dominated  by 
a  preconceived  idea — I  mean  in  his  portraits — he  was 
really  and  incontestably  true  to  nature.  His  Count 
Orloff,  though  inspired  by  the  statues  of  the  philoso- 
phers in  the  Vatican,  is  not  inconsistent  with  this 
opinion  ;  and  his  Pellegrino  Rossi  and  his  Maria  of 
Russia  are  perfectly  original,  and  show  no  preoccu- 
pation of  his  mind  except  with  nature.  And  it  then 
seemed  to  me  strange,  as  it  still  seems,  that  an  artist, 
in  portraying  a  fact  or  a  personage,  however  ideal, 
should  attempt  to  draw  it  purely  from  an  idea,  and  not 
from  living  nature  ;  for  his  idea  is  for  the  most  part  only 
a  remembrance  of  what  he  has  seen.  The  two  processes 
are  quite  different;  for  the  idea  reaches  out  for  the  source 
of  truth  or  nature,  which  is  infinitely  varied,  while  the 
memory  retains  types  and  figures  of  other  works  of  so 
small  a  scale  in  variety  that  its  extreme  ends  soon  meet 
each  other. 

Overbeck  was  more  ideal  and  mystical  than  Tene- 
rani. He  placed  all  the  charm  of  art  in  the  conception 
alone,  and  rarely  or  never  used  a  model.  One  day  he 
said  to  me,  in  a  tone  of  the  most  absolute  conviction, 
that  models  (or  nature)  destroyed  the  idea.  This  theory, 
which  is  eminently  false  as  a  general  proposition,  has  a 


MINARDI  AND   HIS   SCHOOL.  247 

certain  truth  when  applied  to  sacred  subjects  and  repre- 
sentations of  divinity,  and  specially  in  regard  to  those 
artists  who  in  painting  a  Madonna  make  a  portrait  of  a 
model.  The  imitation  of  life  is  certainly  necessary  even 
in- sacred  subjects;  but  it  is  difficult  so  to  select  and 
portray  them  that  the  religious  idea  does  not  become 
obscured,  as  well  on  account  of  the  vulgarity  as  of  the 
excessive  realism  and  expression  of  the  model.  The 
expression  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  the  artist 
should  create,  if  he  has  it  in  him, — and  only  so  far  as 
this  Overbeck  was  right.  Then,  indeed,  is  the  oppor- 
tunity for  the  bello  ideate,  which  is  so  ill  understood 
and  ill  treated;  for  the  ideal  is  in  substance  nothing 
else  but  the  idea  of  the  truth  in  nature,  and  diffused 
over  all  creation,  as  well  in  the  material  as  in  the  intel- 
lectual world.  And  every  artist  of  heart  and  just  per- 
ceptions feels  it  and  sees  it,  and  recomposes  its  scattered 
parts  by  means  of  long  study  and  great  love. 

Minardi,  the  father,  so  to  speak,  of  all  the  artistic 
youths  of  his  day,  strove  to  reform  them  in  taste  and 
composition,  founding  himself  on  the  works  and  the 
canons  of  the  Cinquecentisti.  This  recognition  is  all  the 
more  due  to  him  when  we  remember  that  precisely  at 
this  time,  when  he  was  endeavouring  to  carry  out  this 
reform,  he  had  before  him  Camuccini  and  all  his  school 
in  full  vigour,  and  that  now  Minardi's  school  is  flourish- 
ing and  strengthened  as  much  by  the  conquests  he  has 
made  in  variety  of  imitation  from  nature  as  in  mastery  of 
colour.  I  have  said  that  Minardi  was  like  a  father;  and 
so  he  was.  He  treated  his  young  pupils  as  if  they  were 
his  children,  kept  them  in  his  own  studio,  and  I  have  seen 
three — Consoni,  Mariani,  Marianecci — and  many  others 
around  him  gaily  jesting  with  their  venerable  master.  His 
portfolios  and  albums  were  always  open  to  all,  and  he 


248         ROMAN   AND   FLORENTINE   MODELS. 

delighted  to  show  them,  and,  while  looking  over  their 
studies  and  compositions,  to  add  those  words  of  explana- 
tion, counsel,  and  warning  which  are  so  useful  to  young 
artists.  I  seem  to  see  him  now  in  that  great  studio  of  his, 
which  was  somewhat  in  disorder,  and  encumbered  with 
easels,  drawings,  cartoons,  books,  prints,  and  antique 
furniture — the  air  filled  with  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke 
which  issued  from  the  pipe  he  had  always  in  his  mouth, 
and  he  himself  always  working  or  talking,  reading  or 
writing.  He  was  affable,  gracious,  and  eloquent,  and, 
with  those  little  eyes  looking  through  his  spectacles, 
he  seemed  to  read  into  your  soul ;  and  if  he  found  it 
sad,  he  threw  out  a  word,  and  awakened  it  again  to  life 
and  courage.  One  day,  seeing  me  more  than  ordinarily 
melancholy,  he  rose  from  his  work,  took  me  by  the 
hands,  and  puffing  from  his  pipe  a  larger  volume  of 
smoke  than  usual,  asked  what  was  troubling  me;  and 
when  I  had  made  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  him,  he  laid  his 
pipe  down,  and  embracing  me,  said,  "  Cheer  up,  my  son  ! 
drive  away  from  your  head  all  those  whims  :  go  back  to 
Florence,  take  up  your  work  again  with  courage,  and 
have  more  faith  in  yourself  and  in  your  powers.  It  is 
an  old  man  who  is  speaking  to  you,  who  neither  can  nor 
will  deceive  you."  The  words  of  the  excellent  master 
went  straight  to  my  heart,  and  filled  it  with  courage, 
hope,  and  peace. 

In  this  way,  with  studying  the  ancient  monuments, 
and  going  about  among  the  living  artists,  I  passed 
several  days  in  Rome.  The  models,  and  particularly 
those  of  the  artists  I  have  named,  I  found  more  robust 
and  rounded  than  our  Florentine  models,  which  are  for 
the  most  part  slender  and  lymphatic.  Among  our  girls 
you  will  not  find,  though  you  should  pay  a  million,  such 
necks,  so  firm  and  robust,  and  at  the  same  time  so  soft 


A   ROMAN   MODEL.  249 

and  flexible,  and  like  the  examples  which  Greek  and 
Roman  art  has  left  us.  So  it  seems  that,  without  seek- 
ing for  the  cause  of  the  contradiction  between  the  living 
nature  I  had  found  in  Florence,  and  that  which  was 
represented  in  antique  art,  I  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  Greeks  and  Romans  worked  purely  from  ideas, 
and  corrected  nature  according  to  that  established  rule 
which  we  call  convention.  Nothing  is  more  erroneous 
than  this  notion,  and  the  proof  of  it  I  found  in  Rome 
itself,  as  I  shall  now  tell. 

Whoever  is  familiar  with  the  Roman  people  will  have 
observed  a  notable  difference  between  the  figures  of  the 
common  people,  and  especially  those  of  the  Trasteverini 
and  the  Monti,  and  those  of  the  higher  classes  who  are 
in  better  circumstances.  The  latter  are  more  slender, 
with  a  fine  and  white  skin,  and  often  with  chestnut  hair ; 
while  the  former  have  dark  eyes,  skin,  and  hair,  are 
harsh  and  short  in  their  ways  and  voices,  and  for  a  mere 
nothing  throw  up  their  barricades,  and  blood  runs  without 
much  lamentation  over  it.  You  can  easily  see  in  these 
people  their  uninterrupted  derivation  from  those  fierce 
legions  who  planted  their  eagles  over  all  the  then  known 
earth.  Nor  is  the  blood  in  the  women  different  from  that 
in  the  men ;  and  if  the  men  carry  their  knives  in  their 
pockets  (they  certainly  did  then),  the  women  carried, 
thrust  across  their  massive  knots  of  ebon  hair  with  much 
taste,  a  sharp  dagger  with  a  silver  handle, which  was  in  every 
way  capable  of  sending  any  poor  unfortunate  devil  into 
the  other  world.  One  day  (it  was  Sunday  towards  even- 
ing) I  was,  as  usual,  dreaming  about  those  busts  or  necks 
of  Minerva  and  Polymnia,  and  the  Venus  of  Milo,  and 
I  know  not  how  many  other  antique  statues,  which 
seemed  to  me  to  give  a  solemn  contradiction  to  all  my 
little  models  of  pastry  that  I  had  left  in  Florence,  and  I 


250      AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  TRASTEVERE  GIRL. 

fixed  my  eyes  on  the  neck  of  every  woman  that  I  passed. 
This  examination  induced  me  to  modify  in  measure  my 
opinion  as  to  the  conventionalism  of  the  necks  of  the 
antique  statues ;  and  I  should  have  been  satisfied,  and 
have  changed  my  mind  entirely,  even  had  I  not  purely 
by  chance  gone  on  into  the  Trastevere.  Here  there 
was  a  great  number  of  young  persons,  both  male  and 
female, — the  men  either  in  the  pot-houses,  or  gathered 
around  the  doors,  or  standing  in  groups,  and  the  girls  in 
companies  of  three  or  four  walking  up  and  down  the 
street  of  the  Longaretta.  Among  these  I  saw  one  who, 
if  she  had  been  made  on  purpose  to  prove  that  the  necks 
of  the  antique  statues  were  not  conventional,  could  not 
have  here  offered  a  more  absolute  proof.  There  were 
three  girls,  two  small,  and  one  large  who  was  between 
them.  She  walked  along  with  a  slow  and  majestic  step, 
talking  with  her  companions.  A  sportsman  who  spies 
a  hare,  a  creditor  who  meets  a  debtor,  a  friend  who 
finds  another  friend  whom  he  thought  to  be  far  away  or 
dead,  these  give  a  weak  notion  of  my  surprise  in  behold- 
ing this  girl.  My  dear  reader,  I  do  not  in  the  least 
exaggerate  when  I  say  that  I  seemed  to  look  on  the 
Venus  of  Milo.  Her  head  and  neck,  which  alone  were 
exposed  to  view,  were  as  like  that  statue  as  two  drops  of 
water.  I  was  astounded.  I  turned  back  to  look  at  her 
again,  and  it  would  have  been  well  for  me  had  I  contented 
myself  with  this ;  but  I  wished  to  see  her  yet  once  more. 
The  girl,  who  had  not  an  idea  within  a  thousand  miles 
of  what  I  was  pondering,  nor  of  the  corrections  that  I 
was  formulating  on  an  sesthetical  opinion  of  such  great 
importance,  suddenly  stopped,  and  taking  the  dagger 
from  her  hair,  advanced  towards  me,  and  with  a  strong 
and  almost  masculine  voice,  said  to  me,  "  Well,  Mr 
Dandy,  does  your  life  stink  in  your  nostrils  ?  "  I  shot 


GREEK   LIFE  AND   MODELS.  2$  I 

off  home  directly,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left ; 
and  when  I  arrived  I  told  my  wife  what  had  happened, 
and  she  reproved  me  gently  for  making  my  studies  so 
out  of  time  and  place.  Now  I  ask,  why  this  disdain  ? 
Had  I  been  guilty  of  anything  improper  in  looking  at  the 
girl?  Is  it  possible  that  she  could  have  really  been 
offended  ?  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  know  something  about 
women,  and  I  know  that  it  is  their  weakness  to  try  to 
attract  attention.  It  is  more  probable  that  there  was 
some  one  near  her  to  whom  the  girl  wished  to  show  that 
in  respect  to  anything  touching  her  honour  she  was  too 
fierce  to  allow  any  other  person  even  to  look  at  her. 
Leonardo  none  the  less  counsels  us  to  study  from  nature, 
in  the  open  air,  not  only  by  looking,  but  also  by  taking 
notes ;  and  he  makes  no  exception  as  to  the  Trasteve- 
rini.  For  the  benefit  of  young  artists,  I  propose  to  add 
a  note  on  this  subject  to  all  new  editions  of  Leonardo. 

The  discovery  of  this  beautiful  head  and  neck  of  the 
antique  style  and  character  set  upon  a  living  girl  (and 
what  a  complexion  !)  led  me  to  consider  how  many  other 
parts  of  incontestable  beauty  which  we  find  in  the  antique 
statues,  and  so  readily  believe  to  be  born  of  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  Greek  sculptors,  are  really  to  be  found  in 
nature ;  and  the  Greeks  only  selected  them  for  imitation. 
But  if  this  be  so,  how  can  the  absolute  deficiency  of  such 
models  in  our  day  be  explained?  Then  I  considered 
the  different  education  of  this  people,  their  warlike  lives, 
their  games,  and  prizes  at  throwing  the  disc,  racing, 
boxing,  and  the  esteem  in  which  physical  beauty  was 
held.  If,  indeed,  for  these  reasons  there  is  in  our  day 
a  deficiency  of  fine  models,  we  are  not  absolutely  with- 
out them,  as  this  spirited  and  beautiful  girl  clearly  proves; 
and  I  firmly  believe  she  must  have  been  in  respect  to 
all  the  rest  of  her  body  an  excellent  model.  Hence  the 


252  A   BEAUTIFUL   NUDE   MODEL. 

necessity  of  carefully  selecting  our  models.  In  this  re- 
spect, however,  we  find  ourselves  in  a  much  more  difficult 
position  than  the  ancients.  First,  because,  as  I  have 
said,  their  education  lent  itself  more  efficaciously  to  the 
development  of  the  body ;  and  then,  because  the  public 
games  afforded  far  greater  opportunities  to  see  and  select 
among  them. 

The  first  thing  which  assures  a  good  result  to  a  work 
is  the  selection  of  good  models ;  and  after  taking  great 
heed  of  this,  good  imitation  is  of  absolute  necessity.  I 
have  observed  that  he  who  exercises  little  or  no  selection, 
and  contents  himself  with  the  first  model  he  sees,  belongs 
to  that  class  of  conventional  artists  who  allow  themselves 
such  an  infinity  of  additions  and  subtractions,  and  cor- 
rections of  the  model,  that  generally  only  the  remnants 
of  nature  are  to  be  found  in  their  works ;  while  those 
who  follow  the  opposite  school  copy  the  model  min- 
utely just  as  it  is,  and  even  with  all  its  imperfections. 
If  the  former  remain  cold  and  false,  the  latter  are  vulgar 
and  tasteless ;  for  they  carry  their  love  for  truth  to  such 
an  excess,  that  they  do  not  distinguish  the  beautiful  from 
the  ugly.  Nay,  they  prefer  the  ugly,  because  to  them  it 
seems  more  true  because  it  is  more  common.  It  hap- 
pened to  me  once  to  be  in  the  studio  of  one  of  these 
young  artists,  who  was  engaged  on  I  do  not  remember 
what  work.  When  the  model  was  stripped  he  was  beau- 
tiful to  see :  a  small  head,  squared  breast,  an  elegant 
pelvis,  delicate  knees  and  ankles,  and,  in  a  word,  seemed 
the  "  Idolino  "  itself,  living  and  speaking.  Will  you  be- 
lieve it  ? — he  was  set  aside. 

"  But  what  are  you  doing?"  said  I.  "  Don't  you  see 
how  beautiful  this  boy  is  ?  Copy  him  fearlessly.  He  is 
beautiful  as  Idolino  himself." 

"  That  is  exactly  why  I  do  not  want  him  as  a  model. 


CONVENTIONAL   IMITATION.  253 

I  am  afraid  it  will  be  said  that  I  have  copied  my 
Idolino." 

To  such  a  point  did  their  aberration  arrive.  But  at 
the  same  time,  I  am  sure  that  if  this  model  had  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  one  of  the  idealistic  reformers  of 
nature,  he  would  have  been  corrected  (that  is,  ruined) 
in  every  part,  according  to  the  suggestions  of  his  stupid 
conventionalism.  This  mania  of  correcting  nature  is  in 
itself  extremely  injurious,  and  the  young  artist  must  be 
constantly  on  his  guard  against  it.  A  finished  artist  may 
sometimes  do  this,  because  in  his  skill  and  experience 
he  finds  the  limits  and  the  measure  of  the  liberty  which 
are  permissible.  Indeed  he  is  not  aware  of  the  correc- 
tions that  he  is  making,  and  believes  that  he  sees  it  so  ; 
but  this  depends  on  the  habit  of  seeing  and  portraying 
beautiful  nature.  But  a  youth  who  once  is  set  going  on 
this  incline  never  stops ;  for  he  finds  it  far  easier  to  draw 
freely  on  his  memory  than  to  keep  within  the  proper 
bounds  of  imitation. 

I  repeat,  then,  that  he  who  does  not  select  from  beau- 
tiful nature  with  studious  love  shows  little  faith  in  her 
beauty,  and  thence  come  carelessness  and  unwillingness 
to  portray  her,  and  then  a  headlong  fall  into  the  conven- 
tional. He,  however,  who  finds  the  beautiful  in  every- 
thing, or  rather,  he  who  despises  antique  art  and  calls  it 
conventional,  even  though  it  be  by  Phidias,  is  quite  as 
conventional  himself  in  his  realism.  His  wish  is  to  be 
considered  naturalistic  and  realistic  at  all  hazards,  even 
to  denying  nature  itself,  in  case  it  reminds  him  of  any- 
thing classic  (as  we  have  already  seen),  and  at  last  he 
goes  so  far  as  to  puzzle  his  brains  and  struggle  to  arrange 
the  model  and  draperies  so  as  to  make  them  appear 
naturalistic. 

I  have  seen  an  artist  get  into  a  rage  because  his  dra- 


254  ARRANGEMENT   OF   DRAPERIES. 

peries  would  not  come  upon  the  natural  model  just  as 
he  wished,  and  who  kept  tossing  them  about  and  dis- 
arranging them  so  that  they  should  not  seem  to  be 
artificially  disposed.  I  observed  to  him  that  he  was 
really  arranging  them  artificially,  so  that  they  should  not 
appear  to  be  so  arranged.  He  was  making  a  seated 
figure  in  a  cloak.  After  the  model  had  seated  himself, 
and  thrown  the  cloak  about  him  in  folds  which  were 
perfectly  natural,  and  fell  beautifully  about  his  body  and 
knees,  the  artist  kept  foolishly  changing  them,  putting 
them  out  of  their  proper  place,  because,  he  said,  that  as 
they  came  naturally,  they  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
artificially  disposed. 

"  But  that  is  not  so,"  said  I.  "  They  arrange  them- 
selves naturally,  and  you  keep  disarranging  them  exactly 
like  those  artists  whom  you  blame  for  being  imitators 
of  the  antique  and  conventionalists,, and  you  are  in  this 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  conventionalist  like  them, 
and  even  worse,  for  they  always  strive  to  put  the  folds 
in  their  proper  place,  in  a  certain  number  and  a  certain 
disposition ;  and  though  this  is  detestable  and  tiresome 
pedantry,  because  it  destroys  that  variety  which  is  the 
first  attribute  of  nature,  still  they  are  not  renegades  to  it 
as  you  are,  when  you  thus  obstinately  insist  on  placing 
the  folds  where  they  cannot  possibly  be,  with  the  pretence 
that  otherwise  they  would  seem  adjusted.  You,  even 
more  than  they,  are  an  illogical  conventionalist." 

But  to  be  just,  I  must  say  that  at  this  time  the  neo- 
phytes of  the  new  school  were  few  and  scattered.  The 
school,  indeed,  is  new  only  in  so  far  as  it  has  carried  us 
into  the  excessive,  the  negative,  and  the  illogical ;  for  the 
school  of  the  veristi  is  as  old  as  art  itself,  and  its 
principles  are  correct.  Indeed,  strictly  speaking,  it  has 
one  single  principle,  the  imitation  of  nature ;  but  what 


RETURN  TO  FLORENCE  WITH  A  FRESH  MIND.    255 

the  ancients  meant  was  imitation  of  life  in  its  perfection, 
while  the  moderns  (at  least  some  of  them)  mean  all  life, 
all  nature,  even  though  it  be  ugly.  More  than  this,  they 
prefer  the  ugly  and  deformed,  not  perceiving  that  the 
deformity  of  nature  is  outside  of  true  nature,  since  any 
defect  alters  the  essential  character  of  nature,  which  con- 
sists of  a  harmony  of  parts  answering  to  beauty.  In  a 
word,  the  deformed,  which  is  the  same  thing  as  the  ugly, 
is  nature  debased,  and  thus  ceases  to  be  nature.  I  am 
well  aware  that  the  veristi  deny  that  they  prefer  vulgar 
and  ugly  nature ;  and  if  their  denial  were  justified  by 
their  works,  I  should  entirely  agree  with  them,  and  my 
discourse  on  this  subject  would  be  entirely  futile.  But 
saying  is  not  the  same  as  doing. 

I  returned  to  Florence  quite  restored  in  health, 
strengthened  by  the  example  of  the  works  of  art  in 
Rome,  and  inspirited  by  the  brotherly  words  of  those 
old  and  venerated  artists,  who,  alas !  now  sleep  the 
eternal  sleep,  or  rather,  who  have  waked  from  the  brief 
sleep  of  life  to  one  eternal  day.  The  discovery  of  the 
famous  head  and  neck  of  that  Trasteverina  had  cured 
me  of  my  prejudiced  belief  that  the  ancients  corrected 
nature  according  to  their  completely  ideal  mode  of  look- 
ing at  it — a  belief  which  induces  in  the  mind  of  the  art- 
ist a  weak  faith,  slight  esteem  of  nature,  and  thence 
an  unwillingness  to  imitate  it,  and  an  effrontery  in  cor- 
recting it. 

Before  going  to  work  in  my  studio  I  wished  again  to 
see  and  study,  in  view  of  my  new  convictions,  our  own 
monuments.  I  made  the  tour  of  the  churches,  palaces, 
and  public  and  private  galleries,  just  as  if  I  was  a 
stranger.  To  many  things  indeed  I  might  call  myself 
really  a  stranger,  for  I  had  either  never  seen  them,  or  but 
slightly  and  superficially.  From  this  examination  I  came 


256  AN   ADVENTURE   IN    THE   PITTI. 

to  the  conclusion  that  the  artists  of  all  times  studied  their 
predecessors,  and  only  imitated  nature  after  having  studi- 
ously selected  what  was  conformable  to  the  idea  which 
first  rose  in  their  minds.  Henceforth  the  vyay  was  clear, 
the  light  shone  upon  it,  and  the  objects  of  art  which  I 
examined  came  out  distinctly  and  really  in  their  true 
aspect.  Never  to  my  intellect  had  the  veil  which  covers 
the  subtle  and  recondite  reasons  of  the  beautiful  seemed 
so  clear  and  transparent ;  and  I  felt  tranquil,  satisfied, 
strong,  and  ready  to  devote  myself  to  tny  new  works  in 
the  studio.  One  incident,  however,  did  momentarily 
disturb  this  peace  and  security  of  mine. 

One  day  I  was  in  the  Pitti  Gallery,  and  passing  through 
the  room  where  the  two  statues  of  Cain  and  Abel  are 
placed,  I  saw  a  youth  who  was  drawing  from  the  latter. 
He  seemed  from  his  aspect  to  be  a  foreigner.  I  spoke 
to  him  not  only  to  assure  myself  of  this  fact,  but  also  (I 
confess)  because  it  gave  me  pleasure  to  see  him  copying 
my  statue,  and  I  wished  by  exchanging  a  few  words  with 
him  to  taste  still  more  strongly  this  pleasure,  which,  for 
the  rest,  is  excusable  in  a  young  author.  Approaching 
him  I  said — 

"  Do  you  like  this  statue?" 

"  Yes,  very  much ;  and  that  is  the  reason  I  am  copy- 
ing it." 

"  It  seems,"  I  said,  as  I  saw  he  did  not  recognise  me, 
"  to  be  a  modern  work,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  so  modern  that  the  author  is  still  living — 
though  one  might  say  that  he  is  dead." 

"  What !  I  do  not  understand  you.  How  can  one 
say  that  he  is  dead  when  he  is  living?"  and  I  could 
scarcely  restrain  the  wonder  and  emotion  that  these 
singular  words  created  in  me. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  very  sad  fact,  and  is  very  much  talked 


FILIPPO   GUALTERIO.  257 

about ;  but  it  seems  that  the  poor  artist,  so  young  and  full 
of  talent " 

"  Well  ?  "  I  interrupted  him  suddenly. 

"  It  seems  that  he  is  going  mad." 

I  was  silent.  These  last  words  wounded  me  to  the 
quick,  and  I  remembered  that  during  my  past  sufferings 
I  too  had  a  fear  lest  I  should  lose  my  head,  but  I  never 
suspected  that  this  idea  had  entered  into  the  minds  of 
others.  I  went  out  of  the  room  without  even  saluting 
the  young  foreigner,  and  walked  up  and  down  in  the  open 
air,  going  over  in  my  memory  my  past  suffering,  my 
voyage  to  Naples,  the  cure  I  had  undergone,  and  my 
re-establishment  in  health  both  in  body  and  spirit,  and 
at  last  I  became  tranquil,  and  almost  smiled  in  recalling 
this  strange  conversation  with  the  young  foreigner. 

I  set  myself  to  work  with  good  will,  and  threw  down 
the  first  model  of  the  Bacchino  dell'  Uva  Malata, 
which  I  had  left  without  casting  in  order  to  remake  it 
according  to  a  new  conception  that  had  come  to  me  in 
Naples.  Secure  of  the  road  I  meant  now  to  take,  con- 
vinced in  my  principles,  which  in  substance  did  not  differ 
from  those  that  had  guided  me  in  my  first  statues,  I 
modelled  with  great  rapidity  the  small  Bacchus,  the 
Bacchante,  and  a  figure  of  the  daughter  of  the  Marchese 
Filippo  Gualterio,  lying  dead. 

I  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  Filippo  Gualterio 
at  Siena,  in  the  house  of  my  friend  Count  dei  Gori,  in 
the  first  revolutionary  movement  of  1847.  He  was  a 
thorough  gentleman,  of  careful  education,  a  lover  of  art, 
an  enthusiast  for  beauty,  a  facile  writer  of  the  moderate 
party,  not  then  in  favour  of  the  unity  of  Italy,  but  at- 
tached heart  and  soul  to  the  theories  of  Gioberti  as  set 
forth  in  the  'Primato.'  Out  of  pique,  on  account  of 
some  annoyance  he  had  received  from  the  Pontifical 

R 


258  PIETRO  SELVATICO. 

Government,  of  which  he  was  a  subject,  he  exiled  himself 
from  his  native  country,  Orvieto,  and  joined  the  revolu- 
tionary movement  of  Turin,  Florence,  and  Genoa.  Later 
he  took  a  prominent  part  in  the  revolution  of  1859, 
embraced  the  cause  of  unity,  became  Minister,  and 
shortly  after  died  of  paralysis  of  the  brain. 

The  statuette  of  the  Bacchino  so  much  pleased  my 
friend  Pietro  Selvatico,  who  happened  to  be  in  Flor- 
ence precisely  at  the  time  when  I  finished  it,  that  he 
made  a  drawing  of  it  as  a  souvenir  in  his  album.  This 
able  writer  and  distinguished  critic  and  historian  of  art 
was  also  an  artist  and  accomplished  draughtsman,  or 
rather  he  was  so  until  an  obstinate  disease  in  his  eyes 
deprived  them  of  that  clearness  of  vision  which  is  neces- 
sary to  mastery  as  a  draughtsman. 


259 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


THE   NUDE — THE   STATUE    OF   DAVID — RAUCH — THE    BASE   OF    THE   TAZZA  — 

THE  CHAPEL  OF  THE  MADONNA   DEL   SOCCORSO SEPULCHRAL   MONUMENTS 

FOR  SAN  LORENZO — THE  27TH  OF  APRIL  1859 — COUNT  SCIPIONE  BORGHESI 
—  A  GROUP  OF  THE  DELUGE  —  COMPETITION  FOR  WELLINGTON'S  MONU- 
MENT, AND  A  GREAT  HELP. 


BEGAN  to  work,  as  I  have  said,  upon  the 
figure  of  the  Dead  Girl,  and  upon  the  Bac- 
chante, two  subjects  diametrically  opposed 
to  each  other, — the  Bacchante  representing 
the  festivity,  the  dance,  the  libations,  and  the  weariness 
resulting  from  them ;  the  Dead  Girl,  the  innocence  of  a 
few  short  days  of  life,  the  repose  and  the  joy  of  an  eternal 
peace.  This  is  a  good  method  whereby  to  temper  the 
expression  and  form  of  one's  works,  and  I  recommend  it 
to  young  artists,  since  continually  playing  on  the  same 
string  finally  begets  an  annoyance  and  weariness,  which 
exhibit  themselves  in  the  work.  If  the  Bacchante  had 
not  been  modified  by  this  dead  figure,  which  recorded 
an  innocent  life  and  a  serene  death,  it  might  have  degen- 
erated and  lost  that  beauty  which  is  only  to  be  found 
in  what  is  good. 

One  other  piece  of  advice.  In  conceiving  and  work- 
ing out  subjects  which,  in  their  intention  as  well  as  in 
the  manner  required  to  express  them,  tend  towards  sen- 
suality, one  should  inspire  one's  self  with  a  purely  intel- 


260  THE   NUDE. 

lectual  love.  To  this  kind  of  love  one  should  adhere 
tenaciously,  for  it  is  easy  to  go  astray.  Such  love  seizes, 
and  desires,  and  prefers  to  attain  what  is  good,  in  which 
is  included  all  that  is  true  and  all  that  is  beautiful ;  but 
the  seductions  of  the  senses  veil  the  eyes  of  reason  and 
light  the  fires  of  voluptuousness.  Therefore  we  should 
be  careful,  in  order  that  art,  which  is  the  mistress  and 
mother  of  civilisation,  should  not  lower  itself  to  be  the 
corrupter  of  taste  and  habits.  It  is  not  in  the  least  in 
regard  to  nudity  that  we  should  be  circumspect,  but  in 
regard  to  the  conception,  the  expression,  and  the  move- 
ment of  the  statue ;  in  a  word,  to  the  state  of  mind,  the 
idea,  the  interior  condition  of  the  artist.  Thus,  for  in- 
stance, one  may  look  at  a  figure  entirely  nude,  like  the 
Venus  of  the  Capitol,  and  be  impressed  merely  by  a 
reverent  admiration,  or  by  quite  the  opposite  sentiment. 
The  purest  and  most  sacred  subjects,  the  most  com- 
pletely clothed  figures, — as,  for  instance,  a  nun,  or  the 
Santa  Teresa  of  Bernini, — may  be  impressed  by  an 
unequivocal  sensuality.  No !  nudity  does  not  offend 
modesty.  If  it  did,  all  the  works  of  Michael  Angelo 
deserve  condemnation ;  while  on  the  contrary,  as  every 
one  knows  (I  appeal  for  the  truth  of  this  to  the  most 
prudish ;  to  the  priests,  to  the  popes,  who  ordered  and 
placed  in  the  churches  the  works  of  this  divine  man — 
and  in  so  doing  did  well,  though  these  figures,  both  male 
and  female,  are  as  naked  as  God  made  them),  far  from 
offending  against  decency  in  the  least,  they  elevate  the 
mind  into  regions  so  high  and  so  ideal  that  their  bodies 
are  transfigured,  so  to  speak,  and  clothed  with  a  supersen- 
sual  light  in  which  there  is  nothing  earthly. 

About  this  period  the  question  began  to  be  agitated 
in  respect  to  the  David  of  Michael  Angelo.  Already 
for  some  time  artists  and  lovers  of  works  of  art  had 


REMOVAL  OF  THE  DAVID  OF  ANGELO.   26 1 

expressed  a  fear  that  this  masterpiece  should  remain  ex- 
posed to  injury  in  the  open  air,  and  thus  be  subjected  to 
constant  deterioration.  A  commission  was  nominated 
to  examine  into  the  matter  and  prepare  some  manner  of 
placing  under  shelter  this  celebrated  work.  Professor 
Pasquale  Poccianti,  president  of  the  commission,  pro- 
posed that  it  should  be  removed  and  placed  in  the  Log- 
gia dell'  Orgagna  close  by,  under  the  great  central  arch. 
This  proposition  was  supported  strongly  by  Lorenzo 
Bartolini,  who  had  expressed  his  opinion  several  years 
before  in  a  letter  addressed  to  Signer  Giovanni  Beneri- 
cetti-Talenti,  then  Inspector  of  the  Academy  of  Fine 
Arts,  and  which  I  have  seen.  The  Grand  Duke,  assured 
by  the  opinion  of  such  competent  artists,  ordered  the 
statue  to  be  removed  and  placed  under  the  Loggia,  in 
conformity  with  the  advice  of  the  commission,  and  with 
the  plans  presented  for  this  end  by  Professor  Poccianti. 
It  was  the  intention  of  the  Grand  Duke  to  substitute  for 
the  colossus  that  he  removed  a  copy  of  it  in  bronze,  to 
be  cast  by  Papi,  and  the  order  was  given  for  making  a 
mould  and  casting  it.  I  was  not  on  the  commission  for 
the  removal ;  on  the  contrary,  I  was  among  those  who 
did  not  believe  in  the  injuries  which  the  statue  was  sup- 
posed to  be  suffering.  I  did  not  think  that  there  was 
any  grave  danger  in  allowing  it  to  remain  where  it  was, 
or  that  the  cause  that  had  produced  the  very  apparent 
injury  occasioned  to  the  head  and  the  left  arm  was  con- 
stant dropping  of  water  from  the  roof  above;  and  as  this 
had  already  been  guarded  against,  it  seemed  to  me  in- 
advisable to  remove  it  and  withdraw  it  from  public  view. 
I  remembered  also  to  have  read  that  Michael  Angelo 
himself  had  strongly  urged  that  it  should  be  allowed  to 
remain  where  he  had  placed  it,  and  where  he,  in  working 
at  it,  had  harmonised  it  with  its  surroundings ;  for  even 


262      ARGUMENTS   AGAINST   THE   REMOVAL. 

then  doubts  were  raised  lest  it  might  suffer  injury  in  that 
position.  And  besides,  I  did  not  consider  it  prudent  to 
remove  such  a  colossal  statue,  both  on  account  of  the 
danger  of  the  operation,  and  because  I  thought  it  im- 
possible to  find  another  place  so  favourable  for  artistic 
effect  and  historical  significance.  Therefore,  when  I 
learned  that  its  removal  had  been  decreed,  I  regretted  it 
extremely.  Information  of  this  intention  was  given  me 
by  my  friend  Luigi  Venturi,  from  whom  I  did  not  con- 
ceal my  regret ;  and  as  the  Grand  Duke  was  well  dis- 
posed towards  me,  I  decided  to  go  that  very  evening  to 
the  Pitti  Palace  and  humbly  submit  all  the  arguments 
which  induced  me  to  oppose  this  removal  of  the  David. 
He  received  me  with  his  customary  kindness,  and  imag- 
ining perhaps  that  I  desired  to  speak  with  him  about 
some  work  which  I  was  doing  for  him  on  commission  (of 
which  I  shall  speak  in  its  proper  place),  he  said — 

"  Sit  down,  and  tell  me  what  you  have  to  say." 

"  Your  Imperial  Highness,  I  have  heard  with  great  sur- 
prise that  you  intend  to  remove  the  David  from  where 
it  now  stands,  and  to  place  it  under  the  Loggia  dell' 
Orgagna." 

"Yes;  that  statue  is,  as  you  know,  the  masterpiece 
of  Michael  Angelo.  It  is  suffering  injury  every  day,  and 
it  is  dangerous  to  leave  it  there  exposed  to  the  sun  and 
the  rain.  It  ought  to  be  placed  under  cover,  and  the 
Loggia  is  not  only  so  near  as  to  render  the  operation  of 
removal  easy  and  safe,  but  it  also  is  a  most  beautiful 
place,  and  with  its  great  central  arch  will  fitly  frame  this 
magnificent  statue." 

I  answered — "  I  also  always  have  thought  that  this 
statue  suffers  from  its  exposure  to  the  frost  and  sun — 
although  the  marble  is  from  Fantiscritti,  and  is  of  most 
durable  quality;  and  naturally  the  idea  suggests  itself  to 


,  ARGUMENTS  AGAINST  THE  REMOVAL.      263 

one  that  it  would  be  better  to  remove  it  where  it  would 
not  be  subjected  to  this  slow  but  certain  deterioration. 
But  the  grave  question  which  has  always  preoccupied  my 
mind  has  been  the  difficulty  of  handling  this  colossus,  so 
weak  in  its  supports ;  and  what  renders  this  all  the  more 
difficult  is  the  crack  which  is  said  to  have  been  discovered 
in  the  leg  upon  which  it  stands,  which  is  the  weakest. 
I  therefore  think  that  if  this  crack  exists,  it  constitutes 
another  and  principal  reason  why  the  statue  should  not 
be  touched.  But  independent  of  this  difficulty,  which 
practised  and  scientific  persons  might  possibly  overcome, 
there  is  the  question  as  to  where  it  should  be  placed. 
This  colossus  is  made  for  the  open  air,  and  to  be  seen  at 
great  distances ;  and  the  place  to  which  it  is  now  proposed 
to  assign  it  is  not  in  the  open  air,  and  has  not  the  light 
of  the  sky,  but  on  the  contrary,  a  light  reflected  from 
the  earth,  so  that  only  the  lower  part  would  be  illumi- 
nated, and  in  a  negative  sense — that  is,  from  below  up- 
ward, and  not  from  above  downward,  as  from  the  light 
of  the  sky.  The  upper  part  would  in  consequence  re- 
main in  a  half  light,  so  as  to  divide  the  statue  into  two 
zones  :  the  one  which  would  be  in  the  half  light  ought 
to  be  illuminated,  and  that  which  would  be  illuminated 
ought  to  be  in  graduated  shadow,  And  again,  there  is 
no  distance :  from  the  sides  it  is  not  sufficient,  and  in 
front  the  statue  would  seem  too  high  in  consequence  of 
the  steps  of  the  Loggia.  Nor  only  this  :  if  for  the 
reasons  I  have  stated  the  statue  itself  would  suffer,  the 
Loggia  would  suffer  still  more,  and  would  be  enormously 
sacrificed,  and  in  consequence  of  the  colossal  propor- 
tions of  the  statue,  its  beautiful  arches  would  be  dwarfed; 

and  still  more " 

"  Enough ! "   the   Grand   Duke  with   vexation   inter- 
rupted me.     "  These   are  considerations  which   might 


264         THE  GRAND  DUKE  DISMISSES  ME. 

have  been  discussed,  but  now  the  thing  has  been  de- 
creed." And  rising,  he  added,  "  Good  evening," — which 
being  interpreted  into  common  language,  was  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Go  away ;  you  bore  me." 

I  bowed  and  went  away.  On  the  stairs  I  said  to 
myself,  "  You  have  done  a  pretty  business.  You  see 
how  you  were  dismissed,  and  with  what  irritation.  You 
had  better  have  minded  your  business.  What  had  you 
to  do  with  this?  Did  he  ask  you  to  give  your  advice? 
No ;  you  have  your  deserts,  and  will  learn  better  another 
time."  And  slowly,  slowly  I  returned  home.  But  none 
the  less  I  was  not  dissatisfied  with  myself  for  having 
spoken  frankly  to  the  Grand  Duke  on  this  matter.  I 
had  expressed  my  true  opinion,  and  I  should  have  felt 
more  regret  if  I  had  been  silent,  inasmuch  as  I  was 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  utility  and  propriety  of 
what  I  had  said.  Besides,  I  knew  how  good  the  Grand 
Duke  was,  and  with  what  attention  he  had  listened  to 
me  on  other  occasions  when  he  interrogated  me  on 
questions  relating  to  art  in  general,  or  to  my  own 
works  in  particular.  But  the  phrase  "  decreed "  still 
hammered  in  my  head,  and  I  said  to  myself,  "  Very 
well, — it  is  decreed ;  but  his  decree  is  not  a  decree  of 
heaven.  We  shall  see.  After  all,  I  have  said  what  it 
seemed  to  me  just  to  say,  and  there  is  nothing  improper 
in  that ;  and  if  there  was  any  impropriety,  it  was  on  his 
part  in  not  allowing  me  to  finish.  And  there  is  this 
also,"  I  said — "  that  colossus  in  the  middle  of  the  Loggia 
will  dwarf  all  the  other  statues,  and  make  them  of  little 
consequence ;  so  that  by  an  accursed  necessity  they  will 
have  to  remove  the  group  of  the  Rape  of  the  Sabines, 
and  the  Perseus,  which  stand  very  well  there,  as  well  as 
the  Centaur  and  the  Ajax,  and  all  the  others  along  the 
wall,  which  are  not  placed  well,  whether  the  David  is 
there  or  not." 


VISIT  OF  RAUCH.  265 

But  in  the  meantime,  a  fortunate  incident  gave  a  new 
direction  to  the  affair  of  the  removal  of  the  David,  and 
a  great  weight  to  my  words. 

One  morning  a  gentleman  came  to  my  studio,  who 
said  he  wished  to  see  me.  I,  who  then  was  accustomed 
to  permit  no  one  to  pass  into  my  private  studio,  went 
out  to  see  him.  He  was  tall  of  person,  dignified,  and 
benevolent  of  aspect ;  his  eyes  were  blue,  and  over  his 
handsome  forehead  his  white  hair  was  parted  and  car- 
ried behind  the  ears  in  two  masses,  which  fell  over 
the  collar  of  his  coat.  He  extended  his  hand  to  me, 
and  said — 

"  For  some  time  I  have  heard  you  much  spoken  of; 
but  as  Fame  is  frequently  mendacious,  in  coming  to 
Florence  I  wished,  first  of  all,  to  verify  by  an  examina- 
tion of  your  works  the  truth  of  all  I  have  heard  of  you ; 
and  as  I  find  them  not  inferior  to  your  high  reputation, 
I  wished  to  have  the  pleasure  of  shaking  your  hand ; " 
and  he  then  took  both  my  hands  in  his. 

"  You  are  an  artist  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied, — "  a  sculptor." 

I  wondered  who  he  could  be.  He  spoke  Italian  ad- 
mirably, but  with  a  foreign  accent. 

"  Excuse  me, — are  you  living  in  Rome?" 

"  Oh  no,"  he  answered ;  "  I  lived  there  for  thirty 
years,  but  now  for  some  time  I  have  been  in  Berlin.  I 
am  Rauch." 

I  bowed  to  him,  and  he  embraced  me  and  kissed 
me,  and  accompanying  me  into  my  private  room,  we 
sat  down.  I  shall  never  forget  his  quiet  conversation, 
which  was  calm  and  full  of  benevolence.  While  he 
was  speaking,  I  went  over  in  my  memory  the  beautiful 
works  of  this  great  German  artist, — his  fine  monument 
to  Frederick  the  Great,  his  remarkable  statue  of  Victory, 
and  many  others.  I  recalled  the  sharp  passages  between 


266    RAUCH'S  VISIT  TO  THE  GRAND  DUKE. 

him  and  Bartolini,  and  without  knowing  why,  I  could 
not  help  contrasting  his  gentleness  with  the  caustic 
vivacity  of  our  master.  Their  disagreements  have  long 
been  over;  the  peace  of  the  tomb  has  united  them;  and 
now  the  busts  of  both  stand  opposite  to  each  other  in  the 
drawing-room  of  my  villa  of  Lappeggi. 

Among  other  things,  we  discussed  the  question  of  the 
removal  of  the  David,  and  its  proposed  collocation  under 
the  Loggia  dell'  Orgagna.  He  strongly  disapproved  of  it, 
and  exhorted  me  to  use  all  my  influence  (to  use  his  own 
words)  to  induce  the  Grand  Duke  to  alter  this  decision. 
I  then  narrated  to  him  my  conversation  with  the  Grand 
Duke,  and  the  issue  of  it.  He  was  surprised,  and  after 
thinking  awhile,  said  that  perhaps  there  was  no  ground 
to  despair,  and  that  I  ought  to  speak  of  it  again  and  to 
insist.  I  answered — 

"  I  really  cannot  do  so.  You,  however,  might.  Your 
name,  and  the  friendship  of  the  Grand  Duke  for  you, 
might" perform  miracles;  and  nothing  else  is  needed,  as 
there  is  already  a  decree  in  the  way." 

"  Leave  it  to  me.  To-morrow  I  am  invited  to  dine 
at  Court,  and  I  will  manage  so  that  they  will  speak  to 
me  of  this ;  and  unless  they  ask  me,  I  will  not  let  it 
be  known  that  we  have  met." 

A  few  days  afterwards  he  returned  and  told  me  that 
he  had  spoken  at  length  on  the  subject  with  the  Grand 
Duke,  who  did  not  seem  to  be  annoyed,  but  on  the  con- 
trary, listened  to  him  to  the  end ;  and  then  smiling,  said 
that  I  had  advanced  the  same  doubts  and  objections. 
He  then  thought  it  best  to  openly  confess  that  we  had 
talked  together  on  the  subject.  Rauch  went  away 
shortly  after;  but  he  so  well  managed  the  affair,  that 
the  Grand  Duke  thought  no  more  of  the  removal  of 
the  statue  to  the  Loggia,  considering  the  means  proper 


LETTER   FROM   RAUCH  ABOUT   THE   DAVID.      267 

to  shield  it  from  the  injuries  of  the  weather.  He  also 
sent  for  me  to  tell  me  that  Rauch  had  advised  him  not 
to  place  it  under  the  Loggia,  and  I  remember  used  these 
words  :  "  Rauch  is  entirely  of  your  opinion  in  regard  to 
the  i  David,  and  he  is  a  man  who,  on  such  a  ground, 
deserves  entire  confidence;  and  I  wish  to  say  this  to 
you,  because  it  ought  to  give  you  pleasure,  and  because 
it  proves  that  you  were  right." 

I  thanked  the  Grand  Duke  for  the  attention  and  con- 
sideration he  had  paid  to  the  reasoning  of  Rauch  in 
regard  to  the  David,  as  well  as  for  his  kindness  towards 
me ;  and  this  procured  me  a  dismissal  more  benignant 
than  the  previous  one.  A  short  time  after,  I  received  a 
letter  from  Rauch  from  Berlin,  in  which  he  spoke  to  me 
of  the  David.  I  showed  it  to  the  Grand  Duke,  who 
ordered  me  to  leave  it  with  him.  But  he  returned  it 
a  few  days  later,  and  I  have  transcribed  the  passage 
relating  to  the  David  : — 

"  I  learn  with  great  pleasure  that  his  Highness  the 
Grand  Duke  has  resolved  to  leave  the  statue  of  David 
in  its  place  in  consequence  of  the  trial  made  with  the 
plaster  cast.  But  I  should  like  to  recommend  to  his 
Highness  to  remove  the  group  of  Ajax  and  Patroclus 
from  its  present  position,  and  to  arrange  a  proper  place 
of  just  proportion  and  with  a  good  light,  to  receive 
worthily  this  work  of  sculpture  divinely  composed  and 
executed  by  Greek  hands. 

"  BERLIN,  iftA  December  1854." 

This  is  the  reason  why  the  statue  of  David  was  allowed 
to  remain  in  its  place  for  some  twenty  years  more,  and 
until  the  fear  of  the  danger  which  this  masterpiece  un- 
doubtedly incurred  induced  the  Municipality  and  the 


268      RESTORATION   OP^   THE   PORPHYRY   TAZZA. 

Government  to  order  its  removal  to  the  Academy  of 
Fine  Arts,  where  it  now  stands,  but  where  it  is  not  seen ; 
for  if  the  Government  is  liberal  in  spending  many  mill- 
ions upon  a  Palace  of  Finance  in  Rome,  it  feels  itself 
so  restricted  that  it  obstinately  refuses  to  spend  a  few 
thousands  to  complete  the  building  which  is  to  harbour 
the  most  beautiful  sculpture  in  the  world. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  Royal  Manufactory  of 
Pietre  Dure  finished  the  restoration  of  the  famous 
Tazza  of  porphyry — a  most  precious  and  rare  object, 
which,  from  the  time  of  Cosimo  L,  to  whom  Pope 
Clement  VII.  presented  it,  had  remained  hidden  in  the 
store-rooms,  and  in  great  part  mutilated.  Now,  as  I 
have  said,  owing  to  the  great  care  and  intelligence  of 
the  directors,  united  to  the  goodwill  and  money  of  the 
Prince,  it  had  been  restored  to  its  pristine  beauty  and 
perfection.  In  order  that  this  work,  which  is  also  an 
historical  record,  should  be  properly  exhibited  by  itself 
in  the  Royal  Gallery,  the  Grand  Duke  desired  that  it 
should  be  placed  on  a  base  with  a  new  and  rich  design, 
which  should  at  once  be  a  completion  and  adornment  of 
the  Tazza  itself,  and  also  offer  an  occasion  for  a  work 
of  sculpture.  In  matters  of  this  kind  this  excellent 
Prince  was  intelligent,  earnestly  entered  into  them,  and 
gave  full  liberty  to  the  artist  who  wrought  for  him ;  and 
this  work  he  would  have  carried  out  had  not  the  revolu- 
tion interrupted  it.  But  let  us  not  be  in  a  hurry. 

I  imagined  a  base  of  a  form  naturally  cylindrical,  with 
ovolo  mouldings.  That  from  below  the  base  of  the 
Tazza.  descended  in  a  vertical  line  to  the  base,  which 
stood  upon  a  quadrate  plinth.  Between  the  base  and  the 
Tazza — that  is  to  say,  on  the  first  cylinder — was  a  com- 
plete history  of  the  Tazza,  by  means  of  symbolical  figures 
which  represented  its  origin,  fortunes,  and  final  destina- 


THE   BASE  OF   THIS   TAZZA.  269 

tion.  Perhaps  this  Tazza  once  embellished  the  immense 
gardens  of  the  ancient  Pharaohs ;  and  when  their  empire 
was  overthrown  by  the  power  of  Rome,  all  things  great 
and  precious  which  the  genius  and  power  of  the  nation 
had  produced  were  either  destroyed  or  carried  off.  This 
Tazza,  as  well  as  the  famous  obelisks,  were  brought  to 
Rome.  On  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  the  Tazza 
and  obelisks  remained,  and  the  former  was  presented 
by  Clement  VII.,  together  with  other  precious  objects 
(among  which  was  the  Venus — so  called — de'  Medici),  to 
Cosimo  I.  After  the  Medician  domination  was  over,  the 
Tazza.  remained  forgotten,  until  it  was  restored,  as  I  have 
said,  and  placed  in  the  Pitti  Gallery,  where  it  now  stands. 
To  express  artistically  this  history,  I  imagined  four 
groups,  representing  Thebes  with  the  genius  of  me- 
chanics, Imperial  Rome  with  the  genius  of  conquest, 
Papal  Rome  with  the  genius  of  religion,  and  Tuscany 
with  the  genius  of  art.  Thebes  is  in  a  sad  and  thought- 
ful attitude,  with  a  simple  vest  without  mantle,  and  has 
on  his  head  the  Egyptian  fillet.  He  holds  by  the  hand 
his  genius,  who  frowning  and  unwillingly  follows  after 
him  and  looks  backward,  recalling  "  il  tempo  felice  nella 
miseria."  In  his  hand  he  carries  a  pair  of  broken  coin- 
passes,  to  denote  his  lost  empire  over  science  and 
art ;  and  at  his  feet  is  a  truncated  palm,  around  which 
is  coiled  and  sleeping  the  sacred  serpent.  Imperial 
Rome  stands  in  a  proud  attitude,  resting  her  right  hand 
on  the  consular  fasces,  and  the  left  hand  gathering  up 
her  mantle,  which  falls  to  her  feet.  She  is  crowned 
with  oak-leaves,  and  above  her  head  is  a  lion-skin  in 
the  shape  of  a  helmet.  Her  genius,  with  a  bold  step 
and  fierce  aspect,  grasps  a  lance  and  a  torch,  imple- 
ments of  destruction  and  emblems  of  iron  and  fire. 
Papal  Rome  stands  still,  with  three  crowns  on  her  head, 


2/0  DESCRIPTION   OF   THE  BASE. 

from  which  the  fillets  descend  upon  her  breast.  She  is 
dressed  in  the  pontifical  robes,  and  holds  closed  upon 
her  breast  the  Bible.  Her  genius,  dressed  in  a  Levite 
tunic,  and  with  one  hand  holding  a  cross  and  the  other 
placed  upon  his  breast,  in  sign  of  faith  and  humility, 
treads  on  a  serpent,  the  symbol  of  error,  which  even 
from  the  earliest  time  insinuated  itself  into  the  Church. 
Tuscany  is  in  the  act  of  walking.  On  the  diadem  which 
crowns  her  head  are  engraved  the  Tiber  and  the  Magra, 
the  rivers  which  bounded  ancient  Etruria.  She  holds 
the  royal  sceptre  in  her  right  hand,  and  in  her  left  the 
palladium  of  the  arts.  Her  genius  is  crowned  with  lau- 
rels, and  leans  upon  a  cippus,  on  which  are  disposed  the 
implements  which  are  used  in  the  arts  of  poetry,  music, 
sculpture,  painting,  and  architecture,  bound  together  by 
a  branch  of  olive,  to  denote  that  the  arts  are  only  devel- 
oped during  peace. 

This  conception,  which  was  clearly  expressed  in  a 
sketch,  met  with  the  approbation  of  the  sovereign,  and 
he  ordered  me  to  model  it  on  a  large  scale,  to  be  cast  in 
bronze.  Afterwards,  it  seeming  to  me  that  the  dark 
hue  of  bronze,  added  to  the  shadow  cast  by  the  Tazza 
itself,  would  injure  the  effect  of  my  work,  I  sought  and 
obtained  permission  to  execute  it  in  marble ;  and  I  was 
at  once  paid  for  my  model.  In  the  meantime,  in  con- 
sequence of  rich  work  of  great  delicacy,  it  became 
necessary  to  seek  for  some  marble  which  should  be 
hard,  white,  and  beautiful ;  for  this  work  differed  from 
others  in  having  no  back  view,  in  which  ordinarily  the 
imperfections  of  the  marble  can  be  hidden,  but  was 
exposed  on  all  sides,  in  consequence  of  its  round  form, 
every  point  of  view  being  a  principal  one.  Hence 
there  was  a  difficulty  in  finding  a  block  entirely  free 
from  blemish,  and  having  no  spots  to  injure  the  view 


CHAPEL  OF  THE  MADONNA  DEL  SOCCORSO.      271 

of  any  important  part.  The  search  for  this  consumed 
much  time ;  and  when  at  last  I  had  a  clear  hope  that  I 
had  found  it,  the  revolution  first  suspended,  and  after- 
wards ended,  everything.  I  shall  return  to  this  subject 
later,  and  at  present  I  shall  go  on. 

At  the  same  time  the  Grand  Duke  ordered  me  to 
decorate  a  chapel  of  the  Madonna  del  Soccorso  at 
Leghorn.  Of  this,  which  is  the  first  on  the  left  on  enter- 
ing the  church,  he  had  become  the  patron.  The  chapel 
was  to  represent  the  entire  life  of  the  Madonna.  I 
made  a  large  sketch,  in  relief,  of  the  chapel  and  the 
ornaments  of  the  altar,  with  statues  and  pictures  on 
the  side  walls.  In  the  great  lunette  over  the  altar,  I 
designed  and  coloured  the  Annunciation  of  the  Virgin. 
In  the  empty  spaces  between  the  arc  of  the  lunette  and 
the  side  walls,  which  are  trapezic  like  half  pedestals,  were 
angels  painted  upon  a  mosaic  ground  of  gold,  and  hold- 
ing spread  out  rolls  of  papyrus,  on  which  were  written 
the  prophecies  of  the  Virgin  and  of  Christ.  The  altars 
I  made  with  columns  and  round  arches,  with  a  straight 
base,  after  the  style  of  the  Quattrocentisti.  The  table  of 
the  altar  represented  the  return  from  Calvary  of  the  Vir- 
gin with  St  John.  Behind,  in  the  distance,  were  seen 
the  crosses,  and  the  angels  of  the  Passion  weeping  and 
flying  from  the  sorrowful  scene.  This  also  I  designed 
and  coloured  in  my  sketch.  Under  the  table,  and 
through  a  perforated  screen,  was  seen  the  dead  body  of 
Christ,  illuminated  by  hidden  lights.  The  statues  in  the 
niches  of  the  lateral  walls  were  to  be  St  John  and  St  Luke, 
as  those  who  had  specially  written  about  the  Virgin. 
In  the  two  lateral  walls  above  the  niches,  there  were 
to  be  two  pictures  representing  the  Nativity  and  the 
Death ;  and  these  compositions,  as  well  as  the  sketches 
of  the  two  statues  of  John  and  Luke,  I  did  not  carry 


272      WORKS   ORDERED   BY   THE   GRAND   DUKE. 

out,  relying  upon  the  intelligence  of  the  Grand  Duke, 
which  would  enable  him  to  judge  from  what  I  did  do. 

Besides  this  complex  and  important  work — the  Scrip- 
tural portion  of  which  I  was  to  execute,  while  in  regard 
to  the  paintings  and  architecture,  I  was  assigned  the 
post  of  director,  with  an  authority  to  select  the  artists, 
— besides  this,  I  say,  he  ordered  of  me  the  monuments 
to  the  Grand  Duke  Ferdinand  III.  his  father,  to  his 
brother,  his  sister,  and  various  of  his  children,  all  to 
be  erected  in  the  chapel  called  the  "Vergine  Ben 
Tornata,"  which  is  in  San  Lorenzo,  where  at  present  is 
to  be  seen  the  monument  of  the  Grand  Duchess  Maria 
Carolina.  And  all  these  monuments  I  designed,  and 
made  sketches  of  them,  which  were  approved  by  his 
Highness ;  and  a  royal  rescript  was  made  to  me,  signed 
by  the  President  of  the  Ministry,  Prince  Andrea  Corsini, 
ordering  me  to  execute  these  works.  But  the  2yth  of 
April  1859,  foreseen  by  all,  unexpected  by  few,  arrived 
and  overthrew  everything. 

From  all  these  statements,  two  facts  are  clear;  the 
first,  that  the  Grand  Duke  esteemed  me — and  the  second, 
that  I  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  the  revolutionary 
movement  of  these  days  :  and  this  increased  the  not 
small  number  of  persons,  who  held  me  in  dislike,  owing 
to  the  favour  which  I  enjoyed  at  Court,  and  owing  to 
the  works  which  were  intrusted  to  me.  These  persons, 
whom  I  must  not  call  artists,  showed  themselves,  both 
then  and  after,  to  be  sorely  deficient  in  intellect  and 
heart,  in  blaming  me  for  my  affection  and  gratitude 
towards  the  Prince,  who  treated  me  so  beneficently. 

I  have  said  that  the  events  of  the  27th  of  April 
were  quite  unexpected  by  me.  But  how  was  it  possible 
for  me  to  know  anything,  when  those  who,  above  all, 
were  so  intimately  acquainted  with  what  was  going  on, 


DEMONSTRATION   AGAINST   GRAND   DUKE.      273 

kept  me  at  a  distance,  and  some,  as  for  instance  the 
Marquis  Gualterio,  who  usually  frequented  my  studio, 
withdrew  entirely  from  me  ?  Besides,  how  many  there 
were  who  were  as  much  in  the  dark  as  I,  though  they 
were  in  a  position  that  almost  obliged  them  not  to  be 
ignorant !  I  remember  that  the  Sardinian  Minister, 
Buoncompagni,  who  lived  in  the  Pennetti  Palace  in 
Borgo  Pinti,  gave  every  week  (I  do  not  remember  on 
what  day)  a  reception  or  party  at  which  I  met  and 
conversed,  with  the  utmost  frankness,  with  the  Advo- 
cate Vincenzo  Salvagnoli,  Giovanni  Baldasseroni,  then 
Minister,  the  Marquis  Lajatico,  the  Marchioness  Ginori, 
as  well  as  the  Princess  Conti  and  others,  and  all  of  us 
were  ignorant. 

It  was  only  on  Easter  morning  (I  believe  it  was  the 
antivigilia  of  the  revolution)  that  I  heard  that  something 
was  to  occur,  but  vaguely;  there  was  nothing  positive 
or  precise.  There  was  to  be  some  sort  of  demonstration 
or  manifestation  to  induce  the  Grand  Duke  to  enter  into 
a  league  with  Piedmont  for  the  war  of  independence.  But 
afterwards,  reassured  by  one  who  ought  to  have  known 
more  than  I,  that  it  was  really  nothing,  but  mere  idle 
talk,  and  childish  vague  reports,  I  believed  him.  And 
then  ?  The  day  after,  I  met  Count  Scipione  Borghesi,  my 
excellent  friend,  who,  as  soon  as  he  saw  me,  said — 

"  Well,  I  have  just  arrived  from  Siena ;  and  to  what 
point  have  we  come  ?  " 

"  About  what  ?  "  I  answered. 

"  About  our  request — about  our  demonstration,  which 
is  already  organised.  It  should  take  place  to-day.  What ! 
you  know  nothing  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  —  and  there  is  nothing  to  know; 
trust  me,  for  I  ought  to  know  something  about  it,"  I 
answered,  assuming  rather  an  air  of  authority. 

s 


2/4  POPULAR   DEMONSTRATION. 

My  friend  was  a  little  disturbed  at  first;  and  then 
smiling,  he  added — 

"  It  may  be  as  you  say.  Have  you  any  commands 
for  Siena  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.  Are  you  going  back  to  Siena 
soon  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  Who  knows  ? — to-morrow — the  day  after  to- 
morrow— as  may  be." 

"  Good-bye,  then,"  I  said,  and  we  shook  hands. 

The  next  morning,  from  my  little  villa  which  I  had 
rented  at  the  Pian  di  Giullari,  I  went  down  to  Florence, 
taking  my  usual  route,  at  about  half-past  eight,  when  I 
saw  a  gathering  of  people,  and  groups  here  and  there 
crowded  together  and  talking  excitedly.  I  then  began 
to  suspect  something.  I  went  to  my  studio,  uncovered 
my  clay,  and  waited  for  the  model,  who  should  have 
been  there.  She  kept  me  waiting  for  an  hour;  and 
before  I  could  reprove  her  for  her  unpunctuality,  she 
told  me  that  she  had  been  detained  by  the  great  crowd 
of  the  demonstration  which  blocked  up  all  the  streets 
around  Barbano,  and  that  the  Piazza  was  thronged  with 
people  carrying  banners  and  emblems.  "  Bravo  ! "  I 
said  to  myself,  "  I  did  know  a  good  deal ! "  At  the  same 
time,  an  under -officer  and  instructor  of  the  Lyceum 
Ferdinando,  who  lived  over  me,  came  to  the  window 
and  cried  out  "  Viva  Italia ! "  and  his  pupils  repeated 
his  cry  with  enthusiasm.  "  Do  you  know  what  this 
means  ?  "  I  asked  of  my  model,  who  was  already  un- 
dressed. "  I  cannot  work  now ;  dress  yourself,  and  go." 
She  at  once  obeyed,  and  I  remained  thinking  over  the 
fact.  I  desired  that  the  Grand  Duke  should  yield,  as 
in  fact  he  did  yield,  to  the  League  with  Piedmont  for 
the  war  against  the  foreigner ;  and  I  was  grieved  when 
I  heard  of  his  departure.  On  returning  to  the  country, 


SKETCH   FOR   MONUMENT  TO  WELLINGTON.      2/5 

I  met  my  friend  the  advocate  Mantellini  with  Duchoque, 
and  we  were  all  very  sorry  for  what  had  occurred,  al- 
though I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  events  which  took 
place  either  before  or  on  that  day. 

The  desire  to  give  an  account  of  this  day  has  kept  me 
for  some  time  from  the  regular  order  of  my  records,  and 
I  must  now  return  upon  my  steps.  When  I  had  com- 
pleted the  model  for  the  base  of  the  Tazza,  a  desire 
came  over  me  to  model  a  group  of  colossal  dimensions. 
I  had  selected  as  subject  the  universal  Deluge,  and  with 
youthful  ardour  I  had  sketched  out  the  whole,  and  had 
fairly  well  modelled  some  of  the  parts.  But  as  at  that 
time  the  English  Parliament  had  decided  to  erect  an 
imposing  monument  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  and  to 
that  end  had  opened  a  world -competition,  I  stopped 
working  on  my  group,  and  set  myself  to  think  out  the 
monument  to  Wellington.  I  had,  however,  little  wish 
to  compete,  because  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  work 
would  finally  be  intrusted  to  an  English  sculptor,  and 
that  love  of  country  would  naturally  overcome  that 
rectitude  of  judgment  which  is  so  deeply  seated  in  the 
spirit  of  that  great  nation.  And  so  it  happened  that  I 
had,  as  I  have  said,  little  desire  to  compete ;  and  besides, 
I  have  always  been  opposed  to  competitions,  and  I  shall 
explain  my  reasons  for  this  elsewhere.  But  my  friends 
at  first  began  by  proposing  it  to  me,  then  said  so  much, 
and  urged  the  matter  with  such  insistence,  that  finally  I 
yielded  and  competed.  This  work  of  mine  I  cannot 
exactly  describe,  because,  not  having  seen  it  for  many 
years,  I  scarcely  remember  it.  Let  me  try,  however. 
In  the  angles  of  the  great  embasements  were  groups 
representing  Military  Science,  Political  Science,  Tem- 
perance, and  Fortitude,  each  with  his  Genius.  The 
four  faces  of  the  base  were  ornamented  with  alti-rilievi. 


2/6      THE   GRAND   DUKE  SENDS   ME  TO   LONDON. 

Above  this  rose  upon  another  base  the  principal  group  of 
Wellington  with  Victory  and  Peace.  There  was  a  large 
contribution  of  Florentine  sculpture  sent  to  London,  for 
Fedi,  Cambi,  and  Cartel  competed  as  well,  and  their 
models  were  exhibited  before  going  to  England.  The 
sending  of  these  models  was  not  without  risk,  owing  to 
their  fragility — being  in  plaster — the  minuteness  of  the 
work  upon  them,  and  the  length  of  the  journey.  All 
these  difficulties  did  not  escape  the  attention  of  our 
benevolent  sovereign,  who  had  seen  my  model ;  and  as 
soon  as  I  had  sent  it  off,  he  told  me  he  thought  it  both 
prudent  and  even  necessary  for  me  to  go  to  London  to 
attend  to  my  work  and  see  it  taken  out  of  its  box.  I 
answered  that  I  had  no  fear  of  its  being  injured,  having 
had  it  so  well  packed,  and  depending  on  the  Govern- 
ment officials  who  were  intrusted  to  receive  and  see  to 
the  placing  of  these  competitive  works.  These  were  the 
reasons  I  gave ;  but  there  were  others  of  a  more  intimate 
and  delicate  nature,  for  out  of  respect  for  the  other  com- 
petitors I  did  not  wish  to  appear  as  if  I  went  to  push 
forward  my  own  work.  On  his  Highness  urging  me 
more  and  more,  I  told  him  all  my  thoughts,  and  he 
replied,  with  a  smile,  "  If  it  is  on  account  of  this,  you 
can  go  at  once,  for  Fedi  came  to  take  leave  of  me 
yesterday ;  and  to  facilitate  your  journey,  I  shall  give 
you  a  hundred  zecchini.  I  could  give  you  a  letter  for 
King  Leopold  of  the  Belgians,  my  good  friend,  but  that 
would  be  like  a  recommendation,  so  I  shall  abstain  from 
doing  so.  Go  and  make  haste,  for  if  your  work  should 
be  damaged  on  its  arrival,  who  is  there  who  could  mend 
it?  Therefore  go;  and  good-bye." 


277 


CHAPTER    XV. 


PATIENCE  A  MOST  ESSENTIAL  VIRTUE — TRUST  WAS  A  GOOD  MAN,  BUT  TRUST- 
NO-ONE  A  BETTER — A  COMPETITION  EITHER  ATTRACTS  OR  DRIVES  AWAY 
MEN  OF  TALENT — A  STUDY  FROM  LIFE  OF  A  LION  BY  MARROCCHETTI — 
ASSISTANT  MODELLERS — SYDENHAM  AND  ITS  WONDERS — ONE  OF  "  ABEL's" 
FINGERS — NEW  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON — AN  IMPORTANT  QUESTION — AN 
INDIAN  WHO  SPEAKS  ABOUT  THINGS  AS  THEY  ARE — PROFESSOR  PAPI  AND 
THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  FIRST  CAST  IN  BRONZE  OF  THE  "ABEL" — A  MEDI- 
CINE NOT  SOLD  BY  THE  CHEMIST. 


STARTED  at  once,  and  it  was  well  that  I  did 
so,  for  the  vessel  which  had  the  case  contain- 
ing my  model  sprang  a  leak  on  account  of 
the  bad  weather,  had  to  stop  at  Malta,  and 
arrived  in  London  too  late,  as  the  term  had  expired  for  the 
presentation  of  these  models.  If  it  had  not  been  for  my 
having  the  bill  of  lading, — from  which  it  was  made  clear 
that  I  had  not  only  sent  it  in  time,  but  a  long  time  before 
I  was  required,  and  that  this  delay  had  occurred  from 
circumstances  entirely  independent  of  my  will, — my  work 
would  have  been  undoubtedly  rejected.  For  this  reason, 
and  through  the  good  offices  of  William  Spence,  it  was 
accepted;  and  he  made  me  acquainted  with  the  royal 
commissioner  of  the  exhibition  as  the  person  intrusted 
by  the  author  of  the  work.  When  they  proceeded  to 
open  the  case  the  commissioner  wished  me  to  be  present, 
that  I  might  see  in  what  state  it  had  arrived — and  it  was 
a  truly  lamentable  state !  The  ship,  as  I  have  already 


2/8      MY   SKETCH   ARRIVES   BROKEN   TO   PIECES. 

said,  sprang  a  leak,  and  the  water  had  entered  the  case 
and  softened  the  plaster  figures,  so  that  they  were  dis- 
lodged from  their  places,  and  rolled  about  in  the  box  in 
all  directions.  Heads  were  detached  from  their  bodies, 
hands  mutilated  and  broken,  aquiline  noses  flattened 
out,  the  helmets  had  lost  their  plumes  and  front  pieces. 
In  fact,  it  was  all  a  perfect  hash  !  Besides  this,  as  I  had 
wrapped  them  up  in  cotton-wool  and  paper,  and  the  salt 
water  had  penetrated  and  remained  there  for  many  days, 
they  had  gone  through  a  sort  of  special  chemical  process, 
by  which  my  sketch  was  coloured  in  the  most  varied 
and  capricious  way.  Blue,  red,  and  yellow  were  mixed 
up  together  with  the  most  lively  pleasantry;  and  if  it 
had  been  done  on  purpose,  one  could  not  have  reduced 
the  poor  work  to  a  more  wretched  condition.  I  saw  at 
once  that  I  needed  all  the  sang  froid  possible,  so  I  did 
not  utter  a  word,  and  ostentatiously  showed  a  calm  ex- 
terior that  I  did  not  really  feel, — all  the  more  because 
already  the  greater  part  of  the  models  had  been  put  in 
their  places,  and  the  exhibition  and  judgment  on  them 
.were  imminent.  Fedi,  who  was  present  at  this  disaster, 
seeing  me  so  cold,  said  to  me,  almost  in  a  rage,  "  Why 
don't  you  get  angry  ?  " 

"Why  .should  I  get  angry?"  I  answered.  "Shall  I 
mend  the  matter  by  getting  angry?  On  the  contrary, 
see  how  well  I  shall  manage,  in  a  slow  and  orderly  way. 
I  remember  to  have  read  somewhere — I  don't  recollect 
where — that  he  who  has  to  go  up  a  steep  ascent  must 
take  it  slowly ;  and  so  shall  I." 

He  was  of  the  contrary  opinion,  and  advised  me 
rather  to  leave  everything  alone  for  the  moment,  to 
take  a  pleasant  walk,  and  to  set  myself  to  work  the  next 
day  with  a  fresh  mind ;  and  he  himself,  with  praisewor- 
thy thoughtfulness,  offered  to  help  me.  But  I  held  to 


REPARATION   OF  THE  SKETCH.  2/p 

my  purpose,  thanking  him  for  his  advice  and  offer  to 
help  me,  as  I  felt  confident  that  I  should  be  able  to  do 
it  all  by  myself.  I  then  at  once  informed  the  commis- 
sioner for  the  exhibition  that,  as  I  was  empowered  by  the 
author  of  the  sketch,  and  was  in  his  entire  confidence,  I 
intended  immediately  to  set  to  work  and  restore  it.  As 
this  gentleman  commissioner  understood  not  a  word  of 
French  or  Italian,  William  Spence,  then  a  young  man, 
was  my  interpreter.  When  he  understood  what  it  was  I 
wanted,  he  called  a  gentleman  who  was  looking  at  the 
models  for  competition,  and  spoke  to  him  in  a  low  voice 
in  his  own  language;  but  my  young  mentor,  who,  besides 
his  intelligence,  had  a  fine  sense  of  hearing,  taking  me 
aside,  told  me  what  orders  the  commissioner  had  given 
this  gentleman. 

It  should  be  known  that  the  English  Government, 
among  the  articles  regulating  this  competition,  had  made 
one  which  was  most  wise,  as  it  partially  guaranteed  the 
artist  who  had  not  been  able  to  accompany  his  sketch  in 
person,  and  had  no  correspondents  or  friends  who  could 
act  for  him,  to  repair  any  chance  damages  to  his  work. 
For  this  they  had  appointed  an  able  artist  capable  of 
making  the  required  restorations.  This,  then,  was  what 
Spence  told  me  :  "  The  commissioner,  as  you  see,  called 
that  gentleman  to  tell  him  to  pay  attention  to  what  you 
are  doing  to  this  model,  for  although  you  have  asserted 
yourself  to  be  the  person  intrusted  by  the  author  of  the 
work,  yet  he  has  not  felt  sure  of  it ;  and  as  you  might 
also  be  a  person  who,  with  bad  intentions,  propose  to 
damage  it  under  pretence  of  restoring  it,  it  was  his  duty 
to  prevent  this, — so  he  gave  orders  to  that  gentleman,  in 
case  he  saw  that  your  hand  was  guided  by  bad  faith  or 
incompetency,  to  make  you  leave  off  at  once,  and  to  set 
himself  instead  to  work  on  it." 


280       SIGNOR   BRUCCIANI'S   FRIENDLINESS. 

I  understand  I  must  give  all  my  attention  and  mind 
to  the  manner  in  which  I  do  my  work,  though  I  should 
have  acted  more  freely  had  I  not  been  exposed  to  a 
supervision  as  reasonable  as  it  was  conscientious.  The 
consequence  of  a  mistake  or  an  oversight  might  be  to  see 
myself  set  aside  as  an  ass,  or  even  worse,  as  an  impostor, 
and  the  heads  and  hands  of  my  little  figure  mended  by 
another,  Heaven  knows  how ! 

In  the  meantime,  the  sculptor  or  modeller  who  was  to 
watch  me  never  lost  sight  of  me,  and  being  sure  that  I 
knew  nothing  of  his  charge,  observed  every  movement 
of  mine ;  but  after  I  had  been  at  work  about  ten  minutes 
he  was  completely  convinced,  and  declared  that  I  could 
be  allowed  to  continue  the  restorations — meno  male! 
Plaster  brushes,  small  knives,  sharp  tools,  and  all  other 
implements,  had  been  largely  furnished  to  me  by  Signer 
Brucciani,  a  most  able  caster,  and  the  proprietor  of  a  large 
shop,  or  rather  a  gallery  of  plaster  statues,  able  to  supply- 
any  school  of  design,  and  what  my  friend  Giambattista 
Giuliani  would  have  called  a  perfect  gipsoteca. 

And  with  regard  to  good  Signer  Brucciani,  I  must  say 
some  words  in  his  praise,  not  only  because  he  provided 
me  liberally  with  plaster  and  tools,  and  help  in  my  work, 
but  because  he,  a  stranger  in  a  foreign  land,  has  known 
how,  with  his  activity,  to  acquire  for  himself  the  esteem 
of  a  people  who  are  as  tardy  in  conceding  it  as  they  are 
tenacious  in  keeping  to  it  when  once  given.  From  this 
he  derives  his  good  fortune  and  enviable  position. 

When  Signer  Brucciani  fell  in  with  an  active  and  open- 
hearted  compatriot,  it  brightened  him  up  soul  and  body, 
and  he  often  wished  to  have  me  with  him.  His  wife  and 
daughter  united  a  certain  English  stiffness  with  Italian 
brio  and  frankness  that  they  took  from  their  husband 
and  father.  One  day  Brucciani  and  his  family  desired  to 


THE  SKETCH   IS   RESTORED.  28 1 

spend  the  day  in  the  country  and  dine  in  Richmond 
Park.  Everything  Brucciani  did  he  did  well;  and  I 
hope  he  is  alive  and  able  to  do  so  still.  He  brought 
with  him  several  carriages,  with  everything  that  was 
required  for  the  cuisine  and  table — furniture,  servants, 
food,  and  exquisite  wines,  even  ice  in  which  to  keep  the 
ices,  &c.  A  -viva  to  him  !  for  as  the  Marchese  Colombi 
said,  "  Things  can  be  done  or  not  done."  After  dinner 
a  caravan  of  gipsies,  perfect  witches,  who  live  in  that 
forest,  made  their  appearance,  and  asked  if  we  wanted 
our  fortunes  told.  The  request  was  odd  enough;  but 
being  made  in  such  a  serious  manner,  it  became  really 
amusing.  Naturally,  as  we  had  to  give  something  to 
these  poor  gipsies  not  to  humiliate  them,  we  had  our 
fortunes  told  ;  and  as  for  the  old  woman  that  examined 
my  hand,  she  guessed  so  much  that  was  true  that  I  was 
almost  frightened,  and  drew  away  my  hand.  The  old 
witch  continued  to  point  with  her  bony  finger,  and  say, 
"  There  is  still  more,  still  more." 

My  work  was  rather  long,  and  would  have  been  tire- 
some ;  but  as  it  was  a  necessity,  I  did  it  willingly,  and 
succeeded  very  well.  It  is  true,  however,  that  both  the 
architecture  and  the  figures  were  strangely  spotted  with 
stains  made  by  the  salt  water,  and  bits  of  paper  and 
cotton-wool  in  which  it  had  been  packed.  Some  one 
advised  me  to  give  it  all  a  uniform  tint  to  hide  this  ;  but 
I  insisted  on  leaving  it  in  that  way,  trusting  to  the  good 
sense  of  the  judges,  who  were  called  upon  to  consider 
much  worse  defects  than  those  produced  by  a  chance 
accident.  I  remember  that  Mr  Stirling  Crawford,  of  Lon- 
don, on  receiving  some  years  before  the  two  statues  of 
"  Innocence  and  the  Fisherman,"  and  a  stain  having  made 
its  appearance  on  the  leg  of  one  of  these,  wrote  to  me 
manifesting  his  entire  satisfaction  with  these  works,  and 


282      MARROCCHETTI'S   VIEWS   OF   COMPETITION. 

adding  :  "  It  is  true  that  here  and  there  there  are  some 
stains  in  the  marble ;  but  as  I  know  that  you  do  not  make 
the  marble  yourself,  it  would  be  absurd  to  reprove  you 
for  this."  There  are  but  few  gentlemen  like  him,  how- 
ever— so  few,  that  I  have  never  found  another ;  but  on 
the  contrary,  I  have  seen  more  than  one  who  would  even 
buy  a  mediocre  statue,  to  use  no  harsher  expression, 
provided  it  were  made  out  of  beautiful  marble. 

I  remained  in  London  about  two  months,  and  left  the 
day  before  the  opening  of  the  competitive  exhibition. 
The  judgment  was  to  be  pronounced  after  the  public 
exhibition  was  over ;  and  there  were  a  great  many  com- 
peting— nearly  a  hundred — and  some  of  the  models  were 
very  beautiful.  There  were  to  be  nine  prizes  given — 
three  first  class,  and  six  second.  The  Government  re- 
served to  itself  the  power  of  giving  the  final  commission 
without  regard  to  the  models  that  had  received  prizes, 
as  it  might  so  happen  that  when  the  name  of  the  sculptor 
who  drew  the  first  prize  was  known,  he  might  not  be 
able  to  offer  sufficient  warrant  as  to  the  final  execution  of 
the  work  as  to  tranquillise  the  consciences  of  the  judges 
and  satisfy  public  opinion.  This  argument  is  a  just  one 
when  not  vitiated  by  preconceived  opinions  or  self-love, 
which  sometimes  happens,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter. 

This  was  in  itself  a  thing  easily  understood,  but  was 
not  understood  by  us,  who  went  in  for  this  competition. 
Not  so  Marrocchetti,  who,  clever  artist  that  he  was,  was 
none  the  less  wide  awake  and  wise.  With  those  who 
instigated  him  to  compete  he  reasoned  in  this  way,  say- 
ing :  "  They  know  that  I  am  capable  of  doing  this  work. 
Why,  therefore,  enter  into  competition  with  others,  if  not 
to  find  out  that  there  is  some  one  else  cleverer  than 
I  am  ?  Very  well ;  but  I  choose  to  retire,  and  you  can 
take  the  other  fellow — take  him  and  leave  me  in  peace. 


MARROCCHETTI.  283 

So  far  this  would  seem  prompted  by  nothing  but  the 
fear  of  losing,  which  in  itself  is  no  small  thing  for  a 
man  who  has  a  name  and  has  gone  through  his  long 
career  applauded  by  all.  But  there  is  another  and  a 
much  more  piercing  and  almost  insufferable  dread.  Do 
you  know  what  it  is  ?  That  of  winning.  Yes,  that  of 
coming  in  victor  before  a  poor  young  fellow,  perhaps  one 
of  your  own  scholars  ! "  Thus  he  gave  vent  to  his  feel- 
ings one  day  to  me,  with  the  sort  of  intimacy  that  springs 
to  life  quickly  and  vigorously  between  artists  who  are 
neither  hypocrites  nor  asses;  and  his  words  depict  in 
a  lifelike  manner  the  frank,  and,  I  might  say,  bold 
character  of  this  original  artist,  who  was  most  dashing, 
and  who,  with  a  thorough  knowledge  of  dramatic  effects 
in  art,  from  the  very  exuberance  of  his  strength,  not 
seldom  had  the  defects  produced  by  these  qualities — 
defects  which  were  perhaps  magnified  by  his  assistant 
modellers,  who  worked  with  too  much  rapidity  and  care- 
lessness. 

When  he  saw  the  photograph  of  my  model  he  desired 
to  have  it,  and  I  was  delighted  to  give  it  to  him.  He 
wished  me  to  choose  something  of  his  as  a  remem- 
brance, and  I  did  not  need  to  be  urged.  I  had  set  my 
eyes  on  a  most  beautiful  study  of  a  lion  from  life  in  dry 
clay,  and  so  I  asked  him  for  that ;  but  as  that  was  a 
thing  precious  to  him,  he  asked  me  if  I  would  not  con- 
tent myself  with  a  cast  of  it  in  bronze  instead  of  the 
clay.  On  my  answering  that  I  would,  he  called  his 
caster,  who  worked  for  him  in  his  own  great  foundry, 
and  ordered  it  to  be  cast  at  once.  Two  days  after  this  I 
received  it,  and  keep  it  as  the  dear  remembrance  of  an 
excellent  friend,  and  as  a  valuable  work  of  art. 

At  that  time  Marrocchetti  had  finished  his  great  eques- 
trian statue  of  Richard  the  Lion-hearted.  It  is  a  singular 


284      MARROCCHETTI   AND   HIS   ASSISTANTS. 

thing  that  Marrocchetti,  in  his  long  and  glorious  life, 
made  four  equestrian  statues — Emanuele  Filiberto,  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  Carlo  Alberto,  and  Richard  the  Lion- 
hearted.  Each  one  of  these  statues  bears  a  different 
stamp,  both  as  regards  composition,  feeling,  arid  mode  of 
treatment ;  one  would  say  that  they  were  the  work  of  four 
different  artists.  This  difference  of  work  can  be  reason- 
ably explained  by  the  diversity  of  the  subjects  and  the 
distance  of  time  that  occurred  between  each  work,  neces- 
sarily producing  notable  changes  in  the  mind  and  style 
of  the  artist ;  and  also  because  Marrocchetti,  on  account 
of  the  multiplicity  of  serious  work  he  had  in  hand, 
thought  it  advisable  to  have  help,  not  only  in  the  marble 
work,  but  also  on  his  clay  models;  and  as  those  who 
helped  him  were  not  always  of  his  school,  so  every  one 
brought  just  so  much  of  their  own  individuality  to  bear 
upon  the  work  as  to  alter  the  master's  character  and 
style.  These  are  the  sad  but  inevitable  results  for  him 
who  has  the  bad  habit  of  getting  assistance  with  his  clay 
models. 

While  I  was  there  in  1856  he  had  under  his  directions 
a  very  able  modeller — I  think  he  was  a  Roman,  by  name 
Bezzi.  Bezzi  went  on  modelling,  and  Marrocchetti 
directed  his  work,  whilst  he  sat  smoking  and  talking  with 
me  and  others.  Sometimes  he  would  make  him  pull 
down  a  piece  he  had  been  at  work  on  and  begin  afresh. 
This  method  seemed  to  me  then,  as  it  does  now,  a  most 
strange  and  dangerous  one ;  and  it  has  not  resulted  hap- 
pily, even  amongst  us,  with  those  who  have  been  induced 
to  follow  it. 

Marrocchetti  was  distinguished  from  other  sculptors 
by  another  originality — I  was  almost  going  to  say  oddity 
— and  this  was,  that  he  coloured  his  statues  often  to  such 
a  degree  that  you  could  no  longer  distinguish  the  material 


THE  COLOURING  OF  STATUES.  285 

of  which  they  were  made.  I  remember  to  have  seen  an 
imposing  monument  composed  of  several  figures  that  had 
been  put  up  in  honour  of  Madame  de  la  Riboisiere  in  the 
chapel  belonging  to  the  hospital  which  bears  that  name 
in  Paris.  It  is  completely  coloured — I  should  better  say 
painted  all  over — with  body  colour, — the  heads,  hair, 
eyes,  draperies,  all  coloured  so  that  it  is  impossible  to 
distinguish  the  material  in  which  it  was  sculptured.  You 
could  distinguish  absolutely  nothing ;  and  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  custode,  who  affirmed  that  the  work  was  in 
marble,  you  might  have  thought  it  was  coloured  plaster 
or  terra  cotta.  And  this  worthy  man  was  so  sure  of 
having  thus  added  beauty  to  his  statues  that  he  was 
much  astonished  that  others  did  not  imitate  him. 

Marrocchetti,  there  is  no  doubt,  was  wrong  in  loading 
on  colour  as  he  did ;  but  it  is  a  question  not  yet  solved 
or  to  be  lightly  put  aside  as  to  whether  a  delicate  veil  of 
colour  may  not  be  tried  on  the  fleshy  parts.  Grecian 
sculptors  used  colour,  and  ours  also  in  the  middle  ages, 
although  only  on  particular  parts  of  the  figure  and  on 
the  ornamental  portions  of  their  monuments.  The  only 
one  that  I  know  of,  amongst  modern  artists,  who  used 
colour  with  discretion,  was  Pradier.  The  English  sculp- 
tor Gibson  was  more  audacious.  I  have  seen  a  Cupid 
by  Gibson  entirely  coloured — the  hair  golden,  the  eyes 
blue,  his  quiver  chiselled  and  gilt,  and,  incredible  as  it 
may  seem,  the  wings  painted  in  various  colours  with 
tufts  or  masses  of  red,  green,  blue,  and  orange  feathers, 
like  those  of  an  Arara  parrot. 

Having  seen  the  Kensington  Museum,  and  the  other 
sculpture  and  picture  galleries  in  which  London  is  so 
rich,  I  take  pleasure  in  recounting  a  little  occurrence 
that  happened  to  me  at  Sydenham.  Sydenham  is  a 
place  some  fifteen  miles  from  London,  in  an  open  coun- 


286         THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE. 

try,  healthy,  and  rich  in  green  vegetation.  There  is  the 
famous  Crystal  Palace,  where  one  can  see  a  permanent  ex- 
hibition of  all  the  most  beautiful  things  that  are  scattered 
about  in  different  parts  of  the  world,  beginning  with  ante- 
diluvian animals  reconstructed  scientifically  from  some 
fossil  bones  found  in  the  excavations  of  mines  in  Scotland 
and  elsewhere.  There  are  gigantic  trees  from  Australia, 
one  of  which,  having  been  cut  in  pieces,  bored,  and  the 
centre  extracted,  to  enable  it  to  be  transported,  had  been 
put  together  again  and  planted  inside  this  palace.  It  is 
as  high  as  a  veritable  campanile ;  at  its  base  a  door  has 
been  made,  so  that  one  can  enter  inside  it ;  and  it  holds 
comfortably  some  thirty  persons.  All  the  tropical  plants 
are  there  in  fine  vegetation,  in  conservatories  heated  by 
stoves,  where  the  heat  is  so  oppressive  that  one  longs  to 
go  out  and  breathe  the  fresh  outside  air.  There  also 
can  be  seen  that  famous  plant  that  grows  in  the  water, 
with  its  flower  floating  on  the  surface.  This  gigantic 
flower,  when  I  then  saw  it,  measured  not  less  than  two 
metres  in  diameter,  and  the  leaves  flattened  out  on  the 
water  looked  like  open  umbrellas.  It  seems  really  as  if 
one  were  dreaming,  to  see  such  gigantic  vegetation.  Be- 
sides plants  and  animals  from  all  parts  of  the  earth — 
from  the  polar  as  well  as  from  the  tropical  regions — - 
there  are  the  full-sized  models  of  men  taken  from  life, 
and  coloured  according  to  nature — Cretins,  Esquimaux, 
savages,  Tartars,  Mongols,  and  anthropophagi,  all  in 
most  natural  attitudes,  and  in  their  various  costumes. 
There  are  also  full-size  reproductions  of  pieces  of 
Egyptian,  Indian,  Assyrian,  Mongolian,  and  Moorish 
architecture ;  parts  of  the  Alhambra  Palace ;  some  rooms 
from  Pompeii ;  minarets  and  Chinese  temples ;  sculpture 
(I  mean,  be  it  understood,  reproductions  in  plaster)  of 
the  best  Egyptian,  Indian,  Greek,  and  Roman  works,  as 


I   BREAK   OFF  THE   FINGER   OF   "ABEL."      287 

well  as  those  of  the  middle  ages ;  Ghiberti's  doors ;  the 
equestrian  statues  of  Colleoni,  of  Gattamelata,  of  Marcus 
Aurelius  ;  and  even  some  modern  works,  amongst  which 
is  my  "  Abel." 

I  knew  that  this  statue  of  mine  must  be  there,  for 
I  had  it  cast  by  Papi,  who  had  the  mould  ever  since 
he  cast  it  in  bronze;  and  when  I  saw  it  amongst 
these  masterpieces  as  a  specimen  of  modern  art,  I  felt 
a  certain  feeling  of  complacency  that  I  hope  will  be 
forgiven  me.  But  this  complacency  of  mine  was  dis- 
turbed when  I  saw  that  one  of  the  fingers  of  the  left 
hand  had  been  badly  restored,  not  merely  formed  in- 
elegantly, but  actually  distorted,  as  the  last  phalange 
was  much  too  short.  That  little  stump  of  a  finger  so 
irritated  me,  that  I  gave  it  a  blow  with  the  stick  I 
had  in  my  hand,  and  it  fell  on  the  ground.  Ill-luck 
would  have  it  that  one  of  the  guards  saw  me,  and 
seizing  hold  of  me,  he  carried  me  off  to  the  commissary 
of  the  exhibition.  I  was  asked  why  I  had  damaged  that 
statue ;  and  I  answered  that  the  finger  was  badly  made, 
and  that  I  had  broken  it  off  by  an  involuntary  move- 
ment. They  replied  that  I  could  not  judge  whether 
that  finger  or  anything  else  was  well  done  or  badly  done, 
and  in  any  case  it  was  not  permitted  for  persons  to 
damage  the  objects  exhibited  there ;  that  therefore,  for 
this  violation  of  the  rules,  I  had  incurred  the  penalty 
decreed  in  such  and  such  an  article,  and  that  they  in- 
tended to  keep  me  in  custody.  To  tell  the  truth,  this 
Signor  Commissary  spoke  French  rather  badly;  but  I 
understood  him  very  well,  and  with  the  best  grace  possible 
begged  to  be  forgiven,  saying  that  the  wish  to  damage 
the  statue  had  never  entered  into  my  thoughts,  that 
the  finger  I  had  broken  was  positively  ugly,  that  it 
must  be  remade  as  it  ought  to  be,  and  that,  as  to  having 


288      DINNER   GIVEN   BY   INDUSTRIAL   SOCIETY. 

it  restored,  I  would  myself  bear  the  expense.  But  the 
commissioner  was  firm,  and  was  about  to  consign  me  to 
a  guard,  who  was  to  conduct  me  not  exactly  to  prison, 
but  to  something  of  that  kind.  I  then  felt  obliged  to 
make  my  name  known.  At  first  he  had  no  intention  of 
yielding  to  my  explanation,  and  there  was  an  expression 
on  his  face  that  might  be  translated  thus  :  "  It  seems  to 
me  strange;  it  cannot  be;  I  don't  believe  it."  Then  he 
went  on  to  say,  "  Your  position  as  author  did  not  give 
you  the  right  to  do  what  you  have  done,  even  admitting 
that  what  you  affirm  is  true — and  we  shall  soon  see  if  it 
be  really  true  (tout  de  suite).  You  are  the  author  of  that 
statue;  then  remake  the  finger  that  you  have  broken." 
I  was  completely  taken  aback  by  this  new  judgment  of 
Solomon,  so  simple  and  just.  Calling  to  my  aid  a  young 
modeller  who  was  employed  there,  working  a  little  and 
directing  a  little,  the  finger  was  soon  remade.  And  so 
this  odd  adventure  came  to  an  end,  proving  the  justice 
of  the  proverb,  "  Who  breaks,  pays." 

I  returned  to  Sydenham  several  times,  because  the 
quantity  and  importance  of  the  things  to  be  seen  re- 
quired time  and  attention ;  but  when  I  found  myself 
near  my  own  statue,  I  gave  it  a  wide  berth. 

One  day  I  found  myself,  or  rather  I  should  say  I  was 
taken  by  William  Spence,  to  a  great  dinner  given  by  the 
Artistic  and  Industrial  Society  in  the  dining-hall  of  the 
great  Palace  of  the  Exhibition.  We  were  no  less  than 
four  hundred,  and  Lord  Derby  presided.  About  the  end 
of  the  dinner  the  toasts  began,  with  speeches  of  which 
naturally  I  understood  not  a  word ;  but  fortunately 
"  Mino  "  translated  them  to  me  in  a  few  brief  words. 
At  last  an  Indian  officer  of  the  English  army  arose  with 
a  face  the  colour  of  copper,  and  began  to  speak;  but 
after  the  first  words,  here  and  there  in  that  immense 


AN   EXCITING   SPEECH   ON   INDIA.  289 

hall,  first  in  undertones,  and  then  louder  and  louder, 
there  arose  a  confused  noise  of  voices  of  disappro- 
bation. I  understood  nothing,  and  begged  "Mino"  to 
explain ;  and  he  replied  that  I  must  keep  quiet,  and  he 
would  afterwards  explain  everything.  In  the  meantime 
the  noise  of  disapprobation  increased,  and  some  loud 
words  were  repeated.  The  orator's  voice  could  hardly  be 
heard  any  more,  but  he  was  not  disturbed,  and  waited 
until  the  tempest  was  a  little  calmed  down  before  continu- 
ing. Then  I  heard  a  word  repeated  louder  and  louder, 
which  "  Mino  "  explained  to  me  was  "  Enough."  The 
only  one  who  remained  cold,  passive,  and  silent  was  the 
president;  and  when  the  speaker  saw  that  it  was  an 
impossibility  to  make  himself  heard,  he  bowed  and  sat 
down.  After  a  little  while  every  one  rose  from  table. 

"Now,  then,  relieve  my  curiosity.  What  has  that 
officer  said  of  so  extraordinary  a  nature  as  to  compel 
him  to  silence  in  a  country  like  this,  where  really 
such  entire  liberty  prevails?" 

"What  he  has  said,"  replied  "  Mino,"  "he  could  have 
said  and  repeated  most  freely;  but  he  was  badly  inspired, 
and  had  the  imprudence  to  name  the  Queen.  Now 
amongst  us  the  Queen,  whatever  may  be  the  question,  is 
never  mentioned.  The  law — and  more  than  the  law, 
respect  for  her  person — prohibits  us  from  naming  her. 
The  officer  who  spoke  is  a  colonel  in  our  Indian  army, 
and  is,  as  you  can  see  by  the  colour  of  his  face,  an 
Indian.  He  only  arrived  a  few  days  ago  on  a  mission, 
they  say,  of  some  importance.  Now  this  is  what  he  has 
said :  The  Indians,  subjugated  by  the  force  and  cunning 
of  the  English  Government,  having  borne  as  much  as 
is  humanly  possible  to  bear — the  loss  of  their  liberty, 
of  their  wealth,  and  of  their  religious  faith ;  aggravated 
by  the  odious  sight  of  their  oppressors ;  every  modest 


2pO  THE   INDIAN    MUTINY. 

demand  of  theirs  rejected;  weighed  down  every  day 
more  and  more  by  additional  taxation, — for  some  time 
past  have  burned  with  impatience  to  shake  off  their  yoke 
and  regain  their  lost  liberty.  The  English  Government, 
being  aware  in  part  of  this  movement,  and  in  part  ignor- 
ing it,  he  felt  himself  in  duty  bound  to  proclaim  it 
loudly,  as  much  for  the  good  of  his  own  people  as  for  the 
English  themselves.  After  having  in  vain  attempted  all 
ways  of  adjustment  with  the  Government  of  the  Queen 
(first  time  of  mention),  he  hoped  at  least  by  these  means 
to  open  the  eyes  and  move  the  heart  of  the  Queen 
(second  time)  in  favour  of  those  poor  pariahs,  assassinated 
by  a  Government  who,  in  the  name  of  her  Majesty  the 
Queen  (third  time),  add  to  insult  the  derision  of  a  people 
whom  it  has  enervated  with  the  pretext  of  civilising  it. 
Revolution  and  war  being  imminent  if  their  just  demands 
are  this  time  again  rejected,  the  Government  being  re- 
sponsible for  this  disaster,  and  the  Queen  .  .  .  and  the 

Queen Here  the  orator,  as  you  saw,  was  unable  to 

continue,  and  already  they  had  allowed  him  to  say  too 
much.  Neither  the  gravity  of  his  revelations  nor  his 
injurious  assertions  against  the  Government  had  been 
able  in  the  least  to  excite  our  delicate  organisation,  but 
it  was  only  and  entirely  on  account  of  the  sacred  name 
of  the  Queen  being  mixed  up  in  his  speech  so  impru- 
dently and  with  so  little  judgment." 

The  fact  is,  however,  that  in  less  than  five  weeks  from 
the  day  that  this  poor  Indian  attempted  to  make  the  truth 
known — explaining  what  was  wrong,  and  revealing  the 
consequences  that  would  follow,  and  counselling  a  remedy 
— the  telegraph,  with  its  flashing  words,  announced  the 
Mutiny,  the  peril  the  English  were  in,  and  their  calls  for 
help.  It  is  true  that  the  Queen  was  not  then  mentioned, 
but  for  all  that,  men  did  not  the  less  die.  Methinks  I  can 


STUDY  OF  CHARACTER  AND  TEMPERAMENT.      2pl 

hear  it  said,  "  What  has  this  to  do  with  your  memoirs  ? 
In  our  opinion,  it  has  nothing  to  do  either  with  your 
life  or  with  any  artistic  reflection  that  can  be  of  interest 
to  us." 

But  this  objection  bears  only  the  appearance  of  reason. 
With  this  scene  I  wished  to  depict  the  temper  and  char- 
acter of  the  English  in  general,  and  in  particular  of  the 
two  most  prominent  persons  of  that  assemblage — namely, 
the  Indian  colonel  and  the  president  of  the  banquet. 
And  who  is  there  who  does  not  see  how  useful  and  good 
these  studies  of  character,  taken  from  the  life,  are  to  the 
artist?  The  essential  thing  required  to  make  a  work 
of  art  beautiful  and  valuable  is,  that  it  should  be  a  just 
expression  of  the  passions  and  feelings  of  the  various 
characters  the  artist  wishes  to  represent.  It  is  vain  to 
look  for  the  right  expression  amongst  the  mercenary 
models  that  one  ordinarily  makes  use  of.  The  model 
is  used  for  all  that  is  on  the  outside — movement,  propor- 
tions, physical  characteristics,  beauty  of  form, — for  all, 
in  fact,  except,  however,  just  that  turn  of  the  head  and 
look  of  the  eye,  that  movement  of  the  lips,  dilation  of  the 
nostrils,  and  a  thousand  other  signs  and  indications  on 
the  face  which  reveal  the  inner  struggles  of  the  soul. 
These  passions  and  feelings  are  more  or  less  intense 
according  to  the  temperament,  habit,  and  education  of 
different  individuals ;  and  in  the  mysterious  sea  of  the 
soul,  tempests  gather,  and  become  the  more  dreadful  in 
proportion  as  they  are  not  kept  in  check  by  reason.  Not 
to  give  a  false  expression  to  the  subject  we  wish  to  treat, 
we  must  study  all  these  differences.  Love  in  Francesca 
does  not  manifest  itself  as  in  Ophelia,  the  madness  of 
Orestes  is  not  that  of  Hamlet,  Ugolino's  grief  is  not  the 
grief  of  Prometheus,  and  Penelope's  sadness  is  different 
from  that  of  Ariadne's.  There  are  natures  in  whom  the 


292  GIUSTI'S   'AMOR  PACIFICO.' 

soul  is  of  such  delicate  fibre,  and  who  revolt  so  haughtily 
against  an  insult,  that,  oblivious  of  physical  weakness, 
they  flash  into  anger,  and  rush  blindly  against  the  offen- 
der, whoever  he  may  be.  There  are  others,  strong  and 
robust  in  body,  who  take  things  comfortably  and  easily, 
and  let  alone  the  calumnies  launched  against  them; 
which,  in  fact,  have  rather  the  effect  of  mosquitoes  upon 
them, — they  are  disturbed  for  a  little  while,  and  then  go 
quietly  to  sleep  again.  The  acute  thrusts  of  love  wound 
but  the  external  epidermis  of  these  well-wadded  souls. 
Giuseppe  Giusti  created  a  couple  of  these  curious 
beings — man  and  woman — and  he  called  them  Taddeo 
and  Veneranda.  For  them  the  sea  that  I  spoke  of  is 
always  becalmed,  and  their  tranquil  souls  float  peace- 
fully about  therein.  There  is,  however,  a  calm  very 
different  from  this,  brought  by  reason  into  these  fierce 
struggles  of  the  soul.  The  first,  instead  of  being  a  calm, 
is  indolence,  and  all  the  fibres  that  make  our  whole  being 
move  and  throb,  are,  as  it  were,  dormant.  But  this  calm 
I  speak  of  is  caused  by  the  force  of  reason,  and  strength- 
ened by  the  sentiment  of  temperance  and  charity. 

How  much  self-control  that  Indian  officer  must  have 
exercised  over  himself,  knowing  that  he  was  proclaiming 
a  great  truth,  which,  had  it  been  listened  to  and  repara- 
tion made  in  time,  would  have  prevented  that  most  un- 
fortunate war  that  he  knew  to  be  imminent,  certain,  and 
homicidal !  To  hear  the  shouts  crying  silence  to  him,  and 
not  to  be  disturbed  by  them,  continuing  with  a  firm  voice 
not  any  louder  (which  would  indicate  anger),  nor  lower 
(which  would  be  a  sign  of  fear),  only  stopping  a  little 
when  the  other  voices  grew  louder  and  prevented  him 
from  being  heard,  and  then  again  taking  up  his  dis- 
course without  turning  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  and 
repeating  over  again  the  last  word  that  had  been  drowned 


CLEMENTE   PAPI.  2Q3 

by  the  noise, — I  say  that  this  produced  on  me  the  im- 
pression of  a  profound  admiration  for  the  man.  Even 
now,  after  twenty  years  have  elapsed,  I  seem  to  see 
that  grand  figure  before  me,  and  I  feel  all  his  manly 
tranquillity. 

One  of  the  peaceful  natures,  always  content,  so  well 
described  by  Giusti  in  his  '  Amor  Pacifico,'  and  whom  I 
knew  well,  was  Professor  Clemente  Papi,  an  excellent 
caster  in  bronze.  When  I  knew  him  he  was  between 
fifty  and  sixty  years  of  age,  of  moderate  height,  stout 
build,  and  high  colour,  always  laughing,  always  full 
of  bright  stories  and  little  jokes.  The  muscles  expres- 
sive of  indignation  had,  as  it  would  seem,  been  left  out 
of  his  composition  by  mother  nature.  His  brow  was 
always  smooth — there  was  never  a  frown  on  his  face 
when  speaking  or  listening,  whatever  might  be  the  subject 
of  discussion ;  and  this  constant  habit  of  laughing  made 
him  laugh,  or  shape  his  mouth  into  a  smile,  even  in  the 
most  serious  moments  of  life.  This  man,  who  was  in 
many  respects  most  excellent,  in  his  art,  in  his  family, 
and  as  a  master,  appeared  as  if  he  had  no  heart,  or  as  if 
it  were  made  of  sugar-candy ;  and  yet  he  died  suddenly 
of  heart-disease.  As  I  have  said,  he  had  a  heart,  but  it 
was  sugar-sweet ;  the  bitterness  of  sorrow  and  the  harsh- 
ness of  anger  never  in  the  least  disturbed  his  state  of 
calm,  careless  joviality.  The  following  occurrence  de- 
picts Professor  Papi's  nature  to  the  life :  The  Grand 
Duke  having  ordered  a  cast  in  bronze  of  my  "Abel,"  and 
all  the  preliminary  work  for  the  fusion  of  it  having  been 
accomplished, — that  is  to  say,  the  mould  made  on  the 
original  plaster,  the  earth  pressed  into  that  mould  to  form 
the  kernel,  or  nocciolo,  so  as  both  to  obtain  lightness  and 
to  strengthen  the  cast — the  wax  cast  having  been  made 
and  the  necessary  touches  given  to  it  by  myself — the  whole 


294  CASTING   IN   BRONZE   OF   "ABEL." 

cased  in  its  heavy  covering,  armed  and  bound  about  by 
irons  that  it  might  bear  the  stream  of  liquid  metal,  and 
placed  in  the  pit  and  heated  to  allow  the  wax  to  escape 
from  the  fissures,  then  baked  that  it  might  become  of  the 
consistency  required  for  the  operation, — the  composition 
of  the  metal  was  prepared,  placed  in  the  furnace,  and 
set  on  fire.  After  fifteen  or  twenty  hours,  the  melting 
was  accomplished — an  operation  easily  related,  but  which 
was  the  result  of  many  months  of  labour  and  great  ex- 
pense. The  valve  was  then  opened,  that  it  might  de- 
scend into  the  mould  below.  The  strangeness  of  the  en- 
terprise, the  time  and  sacrifices  of  those  employed  in  it, 
the  strange  and  almost  mysterious  spot  where  the  opera- 
tion took  place,  the  heat  from  the  furnace-fire,  the  gases 
that  came  from  it,  the  anxiety  of  the  workmen,  their 
extreme  fatigue  in  that  decisive  moment,  the  lamp  that 
burned  before  the  crucifix,  and  prayer  that  preceded 
the  opening  of  the  valve — all  filled  me  with  an  undefined 
sense  of  the  marvellous  and  unknown,  of  the  fearful  and 
sacred.  The  valve  was  opened,  the  metal  flowed  down 
the  pipe  into  the  main  channel  clear  and  liquid,  as  all 
metal  is  during  this  process.  Joy  was  depicted  on  all 
the  faces  of  those  anxious  persons  who  had  toiled  so 
long  on  the  work.  The  metal  had  been  already  poured 
into  the  greater  part;  the  mould,  which  had  resisted 
well,  cased  as  it  was  in  its  thick  covering,  and  bound 
with  hoops  of  iron,  gave  no  signs  of  cracking,  nor  was 
any  noise  heard,  as  not  unseldom  happens  when,  as  the 
metal  flows  in,  the  air  inside  has  not  an  easy  escape. 
Papi  stood  upright  and  beaming,  ready  to  embrace  his 
scholars,  when  all  at  once  some  little  violet  flames  from 
the  mouth  of  the  furnace  announced  the  cooling  off  of 
the  metal,  which  gradually  slackened  its  flow  and  lost  its 
splendour.  Stupor  and  depression  were  depicted  on  all 


FAILURE   OF   THE   CASTING.  295 

faces — a  mortal  pallor,  rendered  stranger  still  by  the 
light  reflected  from  the  furnace,  making  them  look  like 
spectres.  The  metal  no  longer  flowed  along,  but  began 
to  drop  in  flakes  like  polenta,  then  became  coagulated, 
and  then  stopped  still.  The  statue  was  little  more  than 
half  cast,  and  all  was  lost !  At  this  sight  the  poor  work- 
men, tired  out,  and  torn  with  grief,  threw  themselves 
on  the  ground  with  violent  contortions  and  weeping.  I, 
between  stupor  and  regret  for  the  failure  of  the  work, 
the  seeming  despair  of  those  poor  people,  and  the  grief 
— although  not  visible,  but  still  great — that  Papi  must 
feel,  did  not  know  what  to  say ;  it  seemed  as  if  my 
tongue  were  tied.  I  wanted  to  get  away  from  that 
place  of  misery :  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  those  people, 
master  and  workmen,  must  be  left  alone  to  give  vent  to 
their  sorrow.  Papi  came  to  my  rescue.  He  came  up 
to  me,  and  said  that  he  had  promised  the  Grand  Duke 
to  give  him  the  news  of  the  casting,  and  that  he  had 
hoped  to  do  so  himself;  but  as  it  had  failed,  he  did  not 
feel  courage  enough  to  carry  him  the  bad  news,  and 
begged  me  to  do  so.  He  shook  hands  with  me,  and 
turned  to  take  leave  of  others  that  he  had  invited  or 
allowed  to  be  present  at  the  casting. 

The  evening  was  well  on  when  I  went  to  the  Pitti. 
I  spoke  to  Paglianti,  the  royal  valet  of  the  Grand  Duke, 
and  asked  if  I  could  be  permitted  to  have  an  audience. 
Paglianti  knew  me,  and  also  knew  that  the  Duke  liked 
to  see  me.  In  a  few  moments  I  was  shown  into  his  study, 
and  briefly  told  him  what  had  happened.  According 
to  his  wont,  he  listened  thoughtfully  and  attentively,  but 
did  not  seem  disturbed  by  it.  One  would  have  thought 
that  he  was  listening  to  a  thing  that  might  be  anticipated 
as  possible  or  probable.  Then  he  began  to  speak — 

"  Poor  Papi !   poor   man !     Who   knows   how   disap- 


296      GRAND  DUKE  SENDS  ME  TO  CONSOLE  PAPI. 

pointed  he  must  have  felt,  and  how  miserable  he  is  now  ? 
And  your  work,  too,  which  gave  you  so  much  trouble — all 
is  lost !  I  feel  deeply  for  your  misfortune  and  that  poor 
man's  unhappiness.  Let  us  think  about  consoling  him. 
Return  to  him,  and  tell  him  in  my  name  to  be  of  good 
cheer,  for  there  is  a  remedy  for  everything,  and  that  I 
am  certain  he  has  nothing  to  reproach  himself  with ;  for, 
when  one  has  taken  every  possible  precaution  to  secure 
success  in  the  execution  of  anything,  and  notwithstand- 
ing all,  the  work  does  not  turn  out  well,  no  one  can 
blame  him  for  it,  and  I  least  of  any  one.  Tell  him  that 
battles  are  won  and  Ipst  in  the  same  way.  Sometimes 
even  a  mistake  makes  one  win,  and  one  can  lose  in  spite 
of  every  forecast.  Tell  him  this  and  more,  all  that  comes 
into  your  head,  to  comfort  him,  and  speak  in  my  name. 
Go  at  once  to  him,  console  him,  and  your  words  will 
bring  him  a  little  calm.  I  am  certain  that  you  will  do 
him  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  that  he  may  afterwards  be 
able  to  rest  to-night ;  but  I  am  sure  that  if  you  do  not 
speak  to  him,  the  poor  man  will  not  sleep." 

I  went  almost  at  a  run,  and  from  Palazzo  Pitti  to  the 
Via  Cavour  is  a  good  bit  of  way.  I  was  all  in  a  perspira- 
tion. I  knocked  at  his  door,  and  after  a  time  his  maid- 
servant appeared. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  says  she. 

"  It  is  I ;  open  the  door." 

"  Oh,  is  it  you,  Signer  Professor?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  I ;  open  the  door,  I  have  a  word  to  say  to 
your  master." 

"  The  master  is  in  bed ;  you  could  speak  to  him  to- 
morrow." 

"No;  I  must  do  so  now.  If  he  is  in  bed,  no  matter; 
he  will  be  glad  all  the  same." 

"  But  if  he  is  asleep,  do  you  want  to  wake  him  ?  " 


I   FIND   PAPI   ASLEEP.  297 

"  Asleep  !  "  said  I ;  "is  he  asleep  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  is  asleep,  I  assure  you.  He  has  been 
asleep  more  than  two  hours,  he  was  so  tired  when  he 
came  home." 

"Well,  then,  since  you  assure  me  that  he  is  asleep, 
my  commission  is  at  an  end  ;  and  when  he  wakes  up, 
which  will  probably  be  to-morrow  morning,  you  may  tell 
him  that  I  had  come  in  a  great  hurry  to  say  two  words 
to  him  that  contained  the  power  of  making  him  sleep, 
but  having  found  him  in  his  first  sleep,  I  shall  tell  him 
another  time,  although  they  may  then  seem  quite  stale." 

To  speak  sincerely,  such  an  extraordinary  feat  I  have 
never  been  able  to  explain.  To  sleep  after  a  similar  mis- 
fortune— to  go  to  sleep  at  once,  immediately,  two  hours 
after,  at  his  usual  hour,  the  hour  when  those  who  have 
nothing  on  their  minds  sleep  !  And  yet,  now  that  I 
think  of  it,  Napoleon  slept  on  the  night  that  preceded 
one  of  his  greatest  battles.  So  at  least  he  wrote  in  his 
biography,  and  because  it  is  printed,  a  great  number  of 
simple-hearted  people  believe  in  it  as  they  do  in  the 
Gospel ',  and  you,  gentle  reader,  do  you  believe  it  ? 
"  Mi,  no  !  ".  as  Sior  Tonin  Bonagrazia  would  say. 

It  has  been  necessary  to  make  this  digression  on  char- 
acter,— that  is  to  say,  on  the  difference  between  those  who 
acquire  calmness  by  virtue  of  their  reason,  and  those 
whose  senses  are  obtuse  to  all  passions — differences 
which  are  visible  to  any  one  who  observes  with  care, 
and  that  escape  many,  indeed  most  people  who  do  not 
think.  Let  the  young  artist  be  persuaded  that  the 
study  and  observation  of  the  true  nature  of  love  and 
human  passions  are  most  essential.  Let  them  give 
up  all  thoughts  of  seeing  these  expressions  in  their 
models.  One's  studio  models  are  common  people,  who 
certainly  have  their  feelings  and  passions,  but  they  are 


298      STUDY   OF   EXPRESSION   FROM   NATURE. 

generally  vulgar ;  and  in  any  case,  during  the  time  that 
they  are  posing  as  models,  they  are  thinking  of  everything 
except  the  moral  condition  of  mind  of  the  person  they 
are  representing.  One  may  answer,  "  We  know  this ; 
the  artist  should  himself  give  the  expression  required 
by  his  subject."  Quite  right;  but  how  can  the  artist 
seize  hold  of  the  right  expression  if  first  he  has  not  seen 
it  in  life,  and  studied  with  attention  beyond  words?  Then 
it  is  evident  to  me,  and  other  works  show  it  without  my 
words,  that  not  a  few  artists  expect  and  insist  on  finding 
expression  in  their  models.  I  remember  an  artist  who 
flew  into  a  passion  because  his  model  did  not  assume  an 
expression  of  grief.  The  model  naturally  laughed  louder 
and  louder,  every  time  this  simpleton  said,  "  Don't 
laugh ;  be  serious  and  sad ;  I  want  you  to  express 
grief." 

It  is  true  that  this  kind  of  study  may  occasion  some 
little  inconvenience — as,  for  instance,  one  may  pass  for 
being  very  stupid,  because  absorbed  in  observing  and 
committing  to  memory,  and  hearing  nothing  that  has 
been  talked  about.  One  may  answer  at  random,  and  be 
extremely  ridiculous.  One  may  appear  as  a.  somewhat 
offensive  admirer,  and  give  umbrage  to  some  jealous 
husband.  One  may  even  pass  for  a  scatter-brain  and 
imbecile.  But  have  patience  !  With  time  and  practice 
the  artist  will  gain  his  point,  and  be  able  to  study  as 
much  as  he  wishes,  while  assuming  an  air  of  indifference 
that  will  shelter  him  from  the  above-mentioned  miscon- 
ceptions. 

He  may,  however,  fall  into  other  mistakes;  and  I 
here  take  note  of  them  that  he  may  avoid  so  doing. 
One  evening  I  was  at  a  ball  at  the  Palazzo  Torlonia  at 
Rome.  I  fcave  no  fancy  for  balls,  but  I  like  to  see  a 
great  many  people, — beautiful  ladies,  elegant  dresses,  and 


A   CIRCE   AT   A   BALL.  299 

naked  arms, — and  more  than  all,  the  expression  of  eyes 
now  languid,  now  animated — smiles  now  ingenuous,  now 
coquettish, — the  weariness  of  the  fathers,  and  the  eager 
concern  of  the  mammas, — the  reckless  joy  of  the  Don 
Giovanni  in  erba,  and  the  deceitful,  washed-out  look  of 
the  Don  Giovanni  in  ritiro.  It  is  a  pleasant  as  well  as 
useful  study,  as  long  as  one  does  not  change  parts,  and 
instead  of  a  spectator  become  an  actor  in  the  scene.  The 
"lime-twigs  are  spread  out,  the  little  owls  are  at  their 
places;  so  beware,  ye  blackbirds,  not  to  be  caught."  There 
I  stood ;  the  painter  Podesti,  with  whom  I  had  come  to  the 
ball,  had  left  me,  carried  away  by  the  attractions  of  the 
card-table.  In  one  of  the  many  rooms  open  for  the  cir- 
culation of  the  company,  and  for  the  repose  of  dancers 
and  those  not  dancing,  seated  on  one  of  the  divans  I 
saw  a  young  woman  of  singular  beauty.  She  was  about 
thirty  :  several  gentlemen  surrounded  her  like  a  garland, 
and  she  had  now  for  one,  now  for  another,  some  trivial 
gay  word ;  but  in  strange  contrast  with  her  careless  words 
and  smiles  was  her  austere  brow,  and  the  haughty  looks 
that  came  from  her  eyes.  The  turn  of  her  head  was 
stately  and  attractive ;  and  a  clasp  of  diamonds  that  was 
fastened  in  her  dark  shining  hair  flashed  every  time  she 
moved.  I  never  saw  a  more  assassinating  beauty  than 
hers  !  Leaning  against  the  wall  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  room,  studying  that  face  with  its  strangely  variable 
expression,  all  the  women  of  history  and  fable  with 
which  this  singular  beauty  had  affinity  rose  before  my 
mind.  Less  full  of  passion  than  Norma,  less  ferocious 
than  Medea,  almost  Helen,  and,  without  an  almost,  a 
Circe, — in  fact,  one  of  those  women  who  promise  one 
paradise  and  prepare  one  an  inferno — capable  of  killing 
the  body,  the  soul,  and  the  memory  of  a  man.  When 
I  had  got  so  far  in  my  reflections,  the  young  lady  rose, 


300  A   LESSON. 

and  coming  straight  towards  me,  she  said  these  simple 
words — "Monsieur,  tandis  que  vous  pensiez,  je  ne  sais  pas  a 
quoi,  la  cire  a  coule  tout  a  son  aise  sur  votre  habit " — and 
she  passed  on  slowly,  demolishing  in  two  words  my 
castles  in  the  air.  I  found,  in  fact,  that  the  shoulder 
and  sleeve  of  my  dress-coat  were  covered  with  wax,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  suppressed  laughter  of  the  beautiful 
Circe.  Of  two  things  one  must  therefore  be  warned 
— to  put  one's  self  out  of  the  dangerous  proximity  of 
lights,  and  to  be  careful  to  look  at  people  with  some 
reserve. 


3oi 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


ON    THE   STUDY   OF   EXPRESSION    FROM   LIFE  — THE    CARE    ONE    MUST    TAKE    IN 
MAKING   STUDIES   FROM   LIFE — A  GENRE  PICTURE  AND  RAPHAEL'S  CARTOON 

OF  THE  "MASSACRE  OF  THE  INNOCENTS" — i  LOSE  MYSELF  IN  LONDON — THE 

HOUSEMAID  AT  HOTEL  GRANARA — THE  INCONVENIENCE  OF  BEING  IGNO- 
RANT AND  ABSENT-MINDED  —  RISTORI  AND  PICCOLOMINI  IN  LONDON — 
THE  CARTOONS  OF  RAPHAEL  AT  HAMPTON  COURT — FANTASY  RUNS  AWAY 
WITH  ME — A  CURIOUS  BUT  JUST  LAW — THE  RESULT  OF  FASTING — THE 
VILLA  OF  QUARTO  AND  A  PRINCE'S  "EARLY  HOUR"  —  AGAIN  OF  PRINCE 
DEMIDOFF. 


UT  it  is  time  to  return  to  the  point  I  started 
from,  and  to  speak  of  the  study  of  character 
and  spontaneous  expression  from  life.  In 
fact  it  was  In  London  that  I  had  occasion 
to  see  a  picture  of  extraordinary  beauty  for  strength  and 
truth  of  expression,  in  which  the  result  of  that  study 
was  clearly  demonstrated.  This  picture,  on  exhibition 
at  the  School  or  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  was  of  small 
dimensions;  the  subject,  a  familiar  one,  or,  as  it  is  usu- 
ally called,  genre,  was  as  follows :  To  the  right  of  the 
person  facing  the  picture  is  a  gentleman's  country-house, 
and  outside  by  the  garden-gate  a  mother  is  seated  near 
her  little  girl,  who  is  ill,  and  reclines  in  an  arm-chair, 
supported  by  pillows.  The  mother  has  left  off  working, 
and  looks  anxiously  at  the  pale  exhausted  girl,  whose 
eyes  are  sunk  deep  in  their  sockets,  and  who  smiles  and 
looks  languidly  at  two  little  children,  a  boy  and  girl, 


302       THE   NATIONAL  GALLERY   IN   LONDON. 

little  peasants,  strong,  healthy,  and  robust,  who  are 
dancing,  and  have  evidently  been  invited  to  do  so  by 
the  parents  of  the  little  invalid.  It  is  autumn,  the  hour 
a  sad  one.  The  last  rays  of  the  sun  are  gilding  the 
dead  leaves  on  the  trees  and  on  the  bushes.  On  the 
left  you  see  the  father  in  close  conversation  with  the 
doctor,  questioning  him  with  anxious  eyes,  whilst  he, 
very  serious  and  sad,  hardly  dares  look  at  the  unhappy 
father.  To  speak  the  truth,  when  genre  pictures  are 
so  full  of  interest  and  life  as  this,  I  prefer  them  to  all 
the  gods  of  Olympus.  But,  generally,  they  are  entirely 
wanting  in  this  first  quality,  and  abound  in  the  second, 
which  becomes  vulgarity ;  and  so  the  foundation  of  art, 
which  is  the  beauty  of  truth,  is  wanting,  and  only  the 
"  business  "  remains,  with  its  puerile  attractions. 

I  saw  many  other  works  of  art,  both  in  painting  and 
sculpture,  at  this  exhibition  of  living  English  artists,  but 
none  of  them  compared  with  that  marvellous  work.  I  do 
not  remember  the  name  of  its  author,  and  much  I  regret 
it;  but  I  have  given  a  minute  and  exact  description 
of  it. 

In  the  National  Gallery,  rich  in  pictures  of  the  Italian 
school,  I  admired  a  marvellous  cartoon  of  Raphael's, 
slightly  coloured,  of  the  "  Massacre  of  the  Innocents."  It 
is  jealously  guarded  under  glass.  Of  the  beauty  of  this 
work  as  to  form,  I  do  not  speak — it  is  Raphael's,  and 
that  is  enough ;  but  what  most  struck  me  was  the  brutal 
movement  of  murdering  soldiers,  the  desperate  convul- 
sive resistance  of  the  mothers,  pressing  to  their  breasts 
the  little  babes,  whilst  they  scratch  and  tear  at  the 
faces  of  the  executioners  j  and  it  would  seem  as  if  one 
heard  their  sharp  screams  mingled  with  the  cries  of  the 
murdered  infants.  The  calm  and  flowing  grace  that  are 
the  characteristic  notes  of  that  divine  genius,  do  not  appear 


I   LOSE   MY  WAY  IN   LONDON.  303 

in  this;  but  instead  one  sees  and  hears  parole  di  dolor e, 
accenti  d1  ira,  voci  alte  efioche,  of  the  desperate  mothers. 
Those  who  have  not  seen  this  cartoon  and  the  others 
at  Hampton  Court,  of  which  I  will  soon  speak,  cannot 
entirely  appreciate  Raphael. 

I  advise  young  artists  who  want  to  go  to  London  to 
learn  a  little  of  the  language  of  the  country;  they  will 
find  themselves  the  better  for  it.  It  happened  to  me, 
who  knew  nothing  of  it,  one  day  to  lose  myself  in  that 
interminable  city,  and  another  day,  very  little  to  my 
taste,  to  find  myself  carried  off  in  the  train  to  Scotland. 
If,  therefore,  they  learn  a  little  English,  they  will  under- 
stand that  Leicester  Square  is  pronounced  Lester  Squere. 
As  I  said,  I  lost  myself  in  London,  and  this  was  how. 
I  lodged  at  the  Hotel  Granara.  Granara  is  an  honest 
Genoese,  who  knows  how  to  attend  to  his  own  affairs, 
as  all  the  Genoese  do,  and  more  than  that,  knows  how 
to  secure  the  goodwill  of  his  customers,  almost  all  of 
whom  are  Italians.  His  hotel  was  at  that  time,  in  1856, 
in  Leicester  Square.  It  was  my  habit  then,  as  always,  to 
go  out  very  early  in  the  morning  and  take  a  little  turn 
before  breakfast.  I  made  it  a  study  to  observe  well  all 
the  turnings,  the  names  of  the  streets  and  their  peculi- 
arities, so  as  to  be  able  to  return  home,  but  did  not 
succeed.  I  tried  again  and  again  for  about  two  hours, 
before  asking  my  way,  to  see  if  it  were  possible  for  me  to 
find  a  street,  a  name,  or  a  sign  that  I  had  seen  before, 
but  all  was  in  vain.  I  was  tired,  had  had  no  food,  and 
had  not  a  soldo  in  my  pocket ;  and  although  I  had  with 
me  the  key  of  the  place  where  I  kept  my  money,  this 
was  of  no  avail  in  getting  me  a  breakfast.  Driven  by 
hunger  I  put  aside  my  pride,  or  rather  my  pretence,  of 
finding  my  way  to  the  inn,  and  asked  a  policeman.  I 
asked  him  both  in  Italian  and  in  French,  but  he  did  not 


304      IT  IS  BEST  TO  SPEAK  ENGLISH  IN  ENGLAND. 

understand  me,  and  presented  me  to  another,  but  with 
the  same  result.  There  I  beheld  myself  lost  in  that 
immense  city,  without  a  penny,  and  very  hungry.  It 
must  be  admitted  that  my  position  was  a  rather  serious 
one — not  that  those  excellent  policemen  did  not  perfect- 
ly understand  that  I  had  lost  the  way  to  my  hotel,  and 
were  most  desirous  of  putting  me  on  the  right  road  to  it, 
but  they  did  not  know  how,  as  they  were  not  acquainted 
with  the  name  of  the  square  that  I  inquired  for.  At 
last,  and  it  was  quite  time,  one  of  them  took  out  of  his 
pocket  his  note-book  and  pencil  and  gave  it  to  me, 
saying  in  good  French,  "  £crivez  le  lieu  oii  vousetes  loge" 
I  had  hardly  written  the  first  word  when  the  policeman 
quickly  said,  "Lester  Squere?"  "It  may  be  so,"  said 
I ;  but  to  make  sure  I  finished  writing  out  the  address, 
adding  even  the  name  of  the  hotel,  and  showed  it  to 
him,  to  which  the  policeman  said,  "  Yes,  very  well."  He 
took  the  paper  and  begged  me  to  follow  him  to  another 
policeman  at  the  end  of  the  street,  to  whom  he  consigned 
me  and  the  paper,  and  having  exchanged  a  word  or  two 
with  him,  returned  to  his  post.  The  new  guard,  without 
uttering  a  word,  took  me  to  another  and  consigned  me 
to  him,  and  so  on,  until  in  about  half  an  hour  I  was 
reconducted  home. 

You  understand  me,  therefore,  in  England  the  know- 
ledge of  a  little  of  the  English  language  will  do  no  harm, 
and  not  be  de  trap,  and  by  it  you  may  avoid  another  incon- 
venience, that  of  finding  a  teacher  at  the  wrong  time  and 
place.  Let  me  explain  myself.  The  maid-servant  who 
had  the  care  of  my  room  got  it  into  her  head  that  she 
would  teach  me  to  speak  English,  and  she  set  herself  to 
work  to  teach  me  with  a  method  entirely  her  own.  She 
seized  hold  of  a  chair  and  called  it  by  name,  then  the 
chest  of  drawers,  then  the  bed,  then  the  looking-glass,  &c., 


VISIT  TO   HAMPTON   COURT.  305 

and  she  insisted  that  I  should  repeat  these  names  after 
her  in  her  language.  The  thing  in  itself  was  innocent 
enough,  but  foolish,  as  both  she  and  I  lost  our  time  by 
it.  For  me  it  was  not  so  much  matter,  but  for  her  the 
neglect  of  her  duties  might  have  lost  her  her  situation  ; 
and  therefore,  with  the  language  common  to  all — that  is, 
by  gesticulations — I  made  her  understand  that  she  must 
stop  her  lessons.  Let  the  reader  not  think,  however, 
that  I  refused  that  good,  and,  let  me  add,  beautiful 
teacher  in  a  rough  way ;  no  indeed,  I  am  not  a  satrap. 
I  said  to  her — (beg  pardon  !)  I  gesticulated  all  this  to  her 
nicely,  and  with  a  good  grace.  One  must  always  have 
every  care  to  treat  women  in  a  gentle  and  respectful 
manner. 

Here  is  another  story,  always  apropos  of  the  necessity 
there  is  of  knowing  at  least  a  little  of  the  English  lan- 
guage. Hampton  Court  is  a  palace  of  the  Queen's,  about 
an  hour's  distance  from  London  by  rail.  It  is  open 
to  the  public  on  holidays.  The  palace  is  beautiful,  and 
contains  many  precious  things;  the  country  about  is 
green,  fresh,  and  pleasant :  therefore,  as  can  easily  be 
imagined,  there  is  always  a  large  concourse  of  people. 
I  wished  also  to  procure  myself  this  outing ;  so,  betak- 
ing myself  to  the  northern  station,  I  took  my  ticket  for 
Hampton  Court,  and  got  into  the  train.  In  that  coun- 
try one  goes  along  at  the  pace  of  twenty  kilometres  an 
hour.  Enchanted  by  the  sight  of  the  beautiful  country 
clothed  in  its  deep-green  mantle, — so  new  to  us  who  are 
accustomed  to  ours,  so  much  more  pallid,  and  burnt  in 
streaks  by  the  greater  fierceness  of  the  sun, — I  forgot 
the  pace  we  were  going  at,  paid  no  attention  when  we 
stopped,  and  did  not  hear  them  call  out  the  name  Hamp- 
ton Court.  I  suppose  similar  things  must  happen  to  the 
touristes  who  visit  our  Italy.  Let  us  imagine  one  of  them 

u 


306     AM  CARRIED  ON  BEYOND  HAMPTON  COURT. 

to  have  taken  a  ticket  for  Certaldo,  desiring  to  visit 
Boccaccio's  house ;  the  train  stops,  and  the  guard,  with  a 
stentorian  voice,  more  calculated  to  slur  over  than  pro- 
nounce the  name,  calls  out,  "Who  is  for  Certaldo?" 
(chi  t peccettardo).  Naturally  the  touriste  does  not  under- 
stand, and  allows  himself  to  be  carried  on  maybe  even 
as  far  as  Siena.  But  this  is  not  so  bad  as  my  case,  for  I 
ran  the  risk  of  being  taken  on  to  Edinburgh.  Fortu- 
nately I  began  to  suspect  that  I  had  passed  by  the  station 
where  I  ought  to  have  got  out,  and  asked.  The  answer 
was,  that  we  had  passed  Hampton  Court  some  time 
since. 

"What  must  I  do?"  I  asked. 

"Stop  at  the  first  station;  and  this  evening,  by  the 
Edinburgh  train,  you  can  return  to  London." 

"  Are  there  no  other  trains  before  this  one,  that  I  may 
return  to  London  during  the  day  to  dine  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Many  thanks  !  " 

I  got  down  at  the  first  station,  paid  the  difference  in 
my  ticket,  and,  in  the  very  worst  of  humours,  took  a 
turn  in  the  little  village  or  hamlet, — I  did  not  even  care 
to  ask  its  name.  I  had  some  wretched  food,  and  every- 
thing seemed  to  me  bad  and  ugly. 

Yes,  yes ;  a  little  of  the  language  of  the  country  is 
even  more  necessary  than  bread  or  than  money,  for  the 
English — and  I  think  they  are  right — speak  no  other 
language  than  their  own.  But  they  go  so  far  as  to  pre- 
tend, when  they  come  amongst  us,  that  we  should  speak 
English  like  them ;  and  here  they  are  in  the  wrong. 

When  I  got  home  to  the  hotel  in  the  evening,  Awo- 
cato  Fornetti  and  Caraffa,  my  friends  and  companions 
at  the  hotel,  came  to  me  smiling,  and  said,  "  Have  you 
amused  yourself?  " 


PICCOLOMINI  AND   RISTORI.  307 

I  said,  "  Yes ; "  I  did  not  tell  them  what  had  happened, 
for  they  were  the  kind  of  men  who  would  have  ridiculed 
me  for  a  long  time. 

Beyond  these  few  little  mishaps,  my  time  passed  most 
pleasantly  in  London.  My  fellow-citizen  Marietta  Pic- 
colomini  was  singing  at  the  Queen's  Opera  House 
with  Giulini  and  Belletti.  Ristori  was  acting  at  the 
Ateneo  Italiano.  There  were  very  often  concerts  of 
music,  instrumental  and  vocal,  where  Bottesini,  Giovac- 
chino  Bimboni,  and  the  violinist  Favilli  played.  I  knew 
De  Vincenzi,  who  was  afterwards  in  the  Ministry;  and 
I  again  met  Count  Piero  Guicciardini,  Count  Arrivabene, 
the  maestro  Fiori,  that  scatter-brain  of  a  Fabio  Uccelli; 
Monti,  the  Milanese  sculptor;  our  Fedi;  Bulletti,  a 
carver  in  wood  ;  Romoli,  the  painter  and  sculptor ;  and 
others, — in  fact,  a  perfect  colony  of  Italians. 

Among  the  tragedies  which  Ristori  acted  in  at  that 
time,  and  which  I  already  knew,  I  saw  one  that  I  liked 
extremely.  It  was  the  '  Camma,'  by  Professor  Giuseppe 
Montanelli, — in  my  belief,  a  very  fine  work,  and  super- 
latively well  interpreted,  in  its  proud  and  passionate 
character,  by  the  first  actress,  Signora  Ristori.  I  heard 
the  Signora  Piccolomini,  with  her  usual  grace  and  intel- 
ligence, sing  in  the  'Traviata'  and  the  'Figlia  del  Reggi- 
mento.'  Although  these  entertainments,  be  they  prose  or 
music,  were  deserving  of  all  praise,  yet  the  price  of  the 
entrance-ticket,  according  to  us  Italians,  was  enormously 
dear,  being  one  pound  sterling,  which  is  equal  to  twenty- 
five  lire  and  twenty  centimes  of  our  money.  May  I  be 
forgiven  if  that  is  little?  One  must  also  take  note  that 
at  that  time,  A.D.  1856,  everything  was  done  in  a  small 
way, — reasonable  incomes,  few  requirements,  small  ex- 
penditures, and,  smallest  of  all,  taxation.  The  ciphers  of 
millions  in  the  great  book  of  '  Debit  and  Credit '  had  not 


308  PRICES   AT   THE  OPERA. 

yet  been  invented ;  the  floating  debt  did  not  even  exist 
in  dreams.  So  that  thirty  lire  codine  at  that  time  repre- 
sented nearly  a  hundred  francs  of  to-day.  Who  is  there 
(I  mean  amongst  us)  who  would  wish  to  spend  a  hun- 
dred7/>r  for  a  '  Traviata '  ?  Not  I,  indeed  ;  for  I  remem- 
ber, when  I  was  an  abonne  at  the  Cocomero  (now  Nicco- 
lini),  to  have  heard  Ristori  for  four  soldi  a-night,  and 
she  acted  equally  well,  without  taking  into  account  her 
youth  and  beauty,  that  inexorable  Time  will  not  respect, 
even  in  celebrities. 

"  Then  you  went  to  a  foolish  expense ;  and  you  con- 
tradict yourself  without  even  turning  your  page,  for  you 
say  that  you  would  not  spend  the  money,  and  at  the 
same  time  you  inform  us  that  you  heard  Ristori  act  in 
'  Gamma ' !  " 

I  answer,  "  '  Camma '  cost  me  absolutely  nothing,  as  the 
Signora  Ristori,  who  is  as  amiable  as  she  is  eminent  as 
an  artiste,  favoured  me  with  an  entrance-ticket ; "  and  so 
I  clear  up  the  apparent  contradiction  that  the  critical 
reader  was  in  such  haste  to  bring  forward.  Go  on,  how- 
ever, and  look  sharply  through  these  papers,  where  you  will 
find  something  of  everything.  Moreover,  you  will  be  often 
bored,  but  I  hope  you  will  never  find  any  contradictions. 
I  have  also  a  very  good  habit — that  is,  of  re-reading 
what  I  have  written :  and  then,  with  a  little  art,  one 
succeeds  in  putting  everything  nicely  in  its  place.  You 
understand  ?  Then  we  will  push  on. 

In  order  not  to  fail  a  second  time  in  my  intention  of 
seeing  the  royal  villa  of  Hampton  Court,  I  wrote  that 
name  on  a  card  and  showed  it  to  the  guard  every  time 
we  stopped.  I  got  there  at  last.  The  place  all  about  is 
very  pleasant,  with  a  wide,  clear  horizon,  for  the  fogs 
only  have  their  home  in  London.  The  palace,  as  may 
be  imagined,  is  large  and  majestic.  I  don't  remember 


HAMPTON  COURT.  309 

the  style  of  its  architecture,  and  don't  want  to  refer  to  the 
easy  expedient  of  consulting  a  guide-book.  I  promised 
myself  that  I  would  write  my  life,  the  thoughts  that 
came  to  me  one  after  another,  without  help,  trusting 
only  to  memory.  So  I  have  done  thus  far,  and  intend 
doing  so  to  the  end.  The  villa,  as  I  have  said,  is  majestic, 
enclosed  on  all  sides  by  gardens  and  orchards.  The 
interior  consists  of  innumerable  halls  richly  decorated 
with  paintings,  somewhat  out  of  repair,  as  they  are  no 
longer  used,  it  would  appear,  as  a  royal  residence. 
People  crowd  more  particularly  to  the  Queen's  own 
private  apartments,  to  see  her  sitting-room,  and  even 
her  bedroom  with  its  bed-furniture,  and  the  thousand 
rich,  pretty,  and  curious  things  with  which  these  rooms 
are  filled.  The  rest  of  the  place,  or  the  greater  part  of 
it,  such  as  the  gallery  of  pictures  and  cartoons,  is  gen- 
erally deserted.  Yet  the  English  are  great  lovers  of  art ; 
we  see  them  with  great  interest  frequent  our  galleries  in 
Rome,  Florence,  Venice,  and  Naples.  But  perhaps  the 
people  brought  by  curiosity  to  Hampton  Court  belong 
to  the  lower  class,  which  has  not  in  London  the  feeling 
for  art  that  the  people  even  of  the  lowest  class  have  in 
Italy.  In  a  great  long  hall,  like  a  gallery,  I  saw  the 
eight  cartoons  of  Raphael  that  were  made  for  the  arrases 
in  the  Vatican.  They  consist  of  "  St  Paul  preaching  to 
the  Athenians  j "  "  St  Peter  and  the  miracle  of  the  fish ; " 
"  St  Peter  and  Ananias ; "  "  St  Peter  receiving  from  Christ 
the  charge  of  guarding  His  sheep ; "  "  Peter  and  John 
healing  the  lame  man  at  the  gates  of  the  Temple ; "  "  Ely- 
mas  the  Sorcerer  punished  by  losing  his  sight; "  and  others 
that  I  do  not  remember.  He  who  has  never  seen  these 
cartoons,  and  the  "  Massacre  of  the  Innocents  "  above 
mentioned,  can  form  no  idea  of  the  strength  of  Raphael 
in  that  grandly  fierce  style  initiated  by  Michael  Angelo, 


310  HYDE   PARK. 

who  spread  therein  so  broad  a  sail  as  to  make  him 
terrible  to  the  beholder,  and  to  occasion  the  shipwreck 
of  many  in  a  smaller  craft,  who  perished  miserably, 
desirous  of  following  him  on  that  fearful  ocean. 

There  are  other  cartoons  in  the  same  gallery  by  Man- 
tegna  representing  the  "  Triumph  of  Caesar."  Mantegua, 
as  all  know,  as  an  artist  is  an  imitator  of  the  antique : 
the  execution  of  the  work  which  is  merely  the  material 
part  alone  is  his  own,  for  he  took  the  conception, 
character,  and  style,  in  generalities  and  detail,  from  the 
antique. 

Besides  the  treasures  of  art  contained  in  the  London 
museums — and  one  may  also  call  Hampton  Court  a 
museum — there  are  the  beautiful  public  walks  called 
parks.  The  largest,  richest  in  avenues,  fields,  and  lakes 
peopled  by  innumerable  ducks  and  fish,  is  called  Hyde 
Park.  This  is  the  promenade  where  all  the  fashion- 
able world  meet.  Ladies  and  gentlemen  on  horseback 
dash  down  the  interminable  avenues  of  this  park,  giving 
loose  rein  to  their  fiery  steeds.  It  is  a  fine  sight  to  see 
these  animals,  so  elegant  in  form,  and  at  the  same  time 
full  of  fire,  pawing  the  ground,  neighing,  and  fretting  at 
the  bit,  from  their  desire  to  be  off:  but  still  more  beau- 
tiful to  look  at  are  those  gentle  ladies  on  their  backs ; 
and  when  they  are  going  at  full  pace,  bending  slightly 
forward  on  their  fiery  steeds,  their  flowing  skirts,  in  ample 
undulating  lines,  giving  a  slender,  flexible  look  to  their 
figures,  you  feel  carried  away,  and  as  if  you  would 
like  to  follow  them  in  that  rapid,  anxious  race,  where 
peril  changes  into  pleasure,  and  where  the  inebriation  of 
the  senses  becomes  ideality.  Such  is  the  fascination 
youth,  beauty,  and  strength  produce  on  the  mind  and 
senses  of  all  natures  susceptible  of  feeling.  It  is  a 
pungent  pleasure ;  the  soul  struggles  in  these  meshes  of 


DISTRIBUTION   OF  CRIMEAN    MEDALS.        3!  I 

flowers,  and  their  perfume  inebriates  and  captivates  it. 
I  beg  pardon  of  the  reader,  if,  for  an  instant  attracted  by 
this  race  of  beautiful  ladies,  my  head  galloped  away  with 
them.  Another  time  I  will  hold  the  reins  tighter ;  and  it 
ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  stop  this  little  horse  of  mine, 
sixty  years  old. 

Hyde  Park,  as  I  have  said,  is  larger  than  the  two 
others,  St  James's  Park  and  Regent's  Park,  and  is  about 
five  miles  in  circumference,  which  seems  a  good  deal ; 
but  so  it  is.  These  country  spaces  in  the  middle  of 
London  are,  as  have  been  justly  said,  the  lungs  of  the 
great  city.  By  means  of  these  green  oases,  impregnated 
with  oxygen,  the  air  of  that  gigantic  body  of  London, 
where  millions  of  men  swarm  like  ants,  is  constantly 
renovated.  These  parks  are  rich  in  timber,  and  flowers 
are  there  cultivated  with  every  art.  There  are  very  few 
guards,  for  great  respect  is  shown  for  the  laws  prohibit- 
ing the  damaging  of  the  plants.  A  curious  but  very  just 
penalty  is  inflicted  by  them,  and  this  is  it :  If  Signor 
Tizio  has  damaged  a  plant,  or  only  picked  a  flower, 
Signor  Tizio,  according  to  the  gravity  of  the  mischief  he 
has  done,  is  prohibited  from  entering  those  precincts  for 
fifteen  or  twenty  days.  And  this  is  not  enough — it  would 
be  too  little ;  his  name  is  posted  up  to  view  at  all  the 
park  entrances,  specifying  the  damage  he  has  done  and 
the  penalty  inflicted  on  him,  that  everybody  who  goes 
there  may  read  and  laugh  ! 

I  was  present  in  Hyde  Park  at  the  distribution  of 
medals  to  the  troops  on  their  return  from  the  Crimea. 
That  great  national  fete  was  a  splendid  success — the 
whole  army  in  arms  and  full  uniform,  every  part  of  it  in 
its  proper  place,  cavalry,  artillery,  marines,  and  infantry. 
At  the  end  of  a  large  camp  a  throne  was  erected  for  the 
Queen,  her  children,  and  her  husband,  Prince  Albert. 


312  ENGLISHMEN    MUST   HAVE   TEA. 

The  Ministers,  Court  dignitaries,  and  Lords  surrounded 
her.  The  ceremony  was  a  long  one.  The  troops  had 
been  on  foot  since  early  morning,  and  many  were  the 
numbers  who  received  medals.  The  sun  beat  down 
with  great  force  on  our  heads,  for  it  was  in  the  month 
of  June.  It  is  a  fine  sight  to  see  the  youth  of  England, 
tall,  square-shouldered  young  fellows,  with  upright  bear- 
ing and  brilliant  colouring ;  but  notwithstanding  all  this, 
it  would  seem  that  for  all  their  strength  of  nature  they 
cannot  endure  hunger.  I  was  present  at  some  little 
occurrences  that  astonished  me  extremely  :  two  or  three 
of  those  young  men  fainted  as  if  they  had  been  delicate 
girls,  although  they  had  herculean  chests  and  arms.  But 
so  it  is  :  the  Englishman,  when  the  hour  has  come, 
requires  absolutely  to  have  his  tea ;  if  this  fails,  he  can 
no  longer  stand  on  his  feet. 

That  this  must  really  be  the  case,  was  demonstrated 
to  me  by  the  affectionate  solicitude  shown  by  their  com- 
rades and  the  people  carefully  conveying  these  fainting 
youths  to  the  ambulances.  Instead  of  this  with  us 
Italians,  we  see  young  men  of  twenty  bear  long  marches, 
discomfort,  and  hunger  with  a  bright  face.  It  is  the 
difference  of  nature  and  habits  in  the  two  nations.  I  do 
not  mean,  indeed,  to  say  that  we  do  not  feel  hunger — in 
fact,  I  can  say  for  myself  that  I  feel  it  most  ferociously ; 
and  if  this  expression  seems  exaggerated,  I  will  correct 
myself  and  add,  brutally  and  insolently,  and  will  recount 
a  little  anecdote  in  proof  of  my  appetite,  especially  after 
fasting.  It  is  a  trifling  matter,  that  goes  as  far  back  as 
thirty  years.  At  that  time  of  juvenile  effervescence  one 
wishes  for  much  and  feels  much,  and  is  not  very  fastidi- 
ous about  ways  and  means.  The  fact  is  a  curious  one, 
and,  to  say  the  truth,  would  not  be  very  pleasant  for 
me  to  narrate  were  it  not  that  it  is  peculiar,  and  with 


VISIT  TO  QUARTO.  313 

the  touch  of  a  brush  paints  to  the  life  the  character  of 
my  early  youth.  I  had  quite  forgotten  it,  and  it  really 
would  have  been  a  mistake  to  do  so.  Those  fasting 
English  soldiers  reminded  me  of  it,  and  I  am  very  glad 
of  it. 

The  benevolent  reader  must  betake  himself  back  to 
the  time  when  I  was  twenty-six  years  of  age,  which,  in  a 
young  artist,  sometimes  means  being  possessed  of  twenty- 
six  devils.  True  it  is  that  with  time  and  increase  of 
years  these  devils,  alas !  diminish.  Therefore,  at  my 
present  stand -point,  I  feel  myself  absolutely  free  of 
them,  and  could  bear  fasting  and  hunger  without  dream- 
ing of  committing  the  impertinence  that,  without  other 
preamble,  I  am  about  to  narrate. 

Lorenzo  Mariotti,  an  agent  of  the  Russian  Govern- 
ment, as  I  have  before  mentioned,  brought  me  a  paper, 
on  which  were  written  the  following  words  : — 

"Professor  Dupre  is  requested  to  come  at  an  early 
hour  to-morrow  morning  to  Quarto.  A.  DEMIDOFF." 

Quarto  is  an  enchanting  villa  that  was  afterwards  in 
the  possession  of  the  Grand  Duchess  Maria  of  Russia ; 
at  that  time,  it  was  the  property  of  Prince  Anatolio 
Demidoff,  who  had  bought  it  from  Prince  Girolamo 
Buonaparte,  the  father  of  Princess  Matilde.  It  is  four 
miles  distant  from  Florence,  on  the  skirts  of  the  steep 
hill  of  Monte  Morello,  enclosed  by  beautiful  gardens  and 
a  fine  park.  I  therefore  betook  myself  there  at  an  early 
hour ;  and  in  the  hopes  of  quickly  despatching  my  busi- 
ness, I  had  not  thought  of  breakfasting  before  starting, 
but  merely  took  a  cup  of  coffee.  I  got  into  the  carriage, 
and  arrived  there  at  about  eight  o'clock.  It  was  a  good 
season  of  the  year,  being  May,  and  the  day  was  a 


3 14  HUNGER  AT   QUARTO. 

splendid  one ;  in  its  quietness  and  fragrance  it  reminded 
me  of  those  most  sweet  verses  of  the  divine  poet : — 

'  "  E  quale,  annunziatrice  degli  albori, 
L'  aura  di  maggio  moves!  ed  olezza, 
Tutta  impregnata  dall'  erbe  e  da  fiori."  l 

So  I  tasted  the  voluptuousness  of  these  first  warm 
days  in  the  pure  quietness  of  our  hills,  and  I  looked 
forward  to  a  short  conversation  with  the  Prince  (as  I 
imagined  the  motive  of  his  summons),  and  a  speedy  re- 
turn to  Florence.  I  dismounted,  and  told  the  coach- 
man to  wait ;  he  lighted  his  cigar,  took  a  turn  round  the 
villa,  and  then  placed  himself  in  the  shade.  I  asked 
for  the  Prince,  and  was  answered  that  he  was  not  up. 
Then  I  feared  that  I  should  be  obliged  to  wait ;  but  the 
message  was,  "at  an  early  hour."  Who  knows,  how- 
ever, what  is  an  early  hour  to  a  gentleman  ?  I  found 
out  afterwards,  as  the  reader  will  soon  hear. 

I  walked  about  in  the  apartment,  in  the  court,  in  the 
garden,  and  in  the  park,  and  from  time  to  time  I  came 
back  to  see  if  the  Prince  had  asked  for  me ;  but  the 
Prince  had  not  yet  called.  Two  good  hours  were 
already  past.  The  pure  air  of  the  beautiful  country,  the 
pleasant  shade  in  the  park,  the  odour  of  the  violets  and 
roses,  all  had  served  to  sharpen  my  appetite.  I  risked 
asking  a  servant  if  he  could  give  rne  some  breakfast,  but 
he  answered  that  no  one  could  have  anything  to  eat 
before  his  Excellency  had  ordered  his  breakfast. 

"And  is  it  late  before  his  Excellency  orders  his 
breakfast  ?  " 

"Ah!    that   is   as   it   happens, —  at  mid-day,  at  one 

1  "  And  as  the  harbinger  of  early  dawn, 

The  air  of  May  doth  move  and  breathe  out  fragrance, 
Impregnate  all  with  herbage  and  with  flowers." 

— DANTE  :  Purgatorio,  Canto  xxiv. 


I   ORDER    BREAKFAST   FOR   MYSELF.          315 

o'clock — when  he  thinks  best."  So  saying  he  left  me, 
and  I  began  my  walks  again.  The  beautiful  country 
seemed  to  me  less  beautiful,  the  shady  avenues  of  the 
park  had  assumed  a  certain  sadness  and  obnoxious 
freshness,  the  odour  from  the  flowers  made  my  head 
giddy !  What  was  I  to  do  ?  Return  to  Florence  ?  It 
was  far.  And  what  then  of  the  Prince's  message  ?  I  did 
not  wish  to  fail  to  meet  his  invitation.  I  reflected  a 
little,  and  then  resolved  to  make  a  somewhat  rash  at- 
tempt, but  which  succeeded  admirably.  I  had  caught 
sight  'of  the  breakfast-room,  with  its  table  all  set  out  with 
cups,  plates,  glasses,  cakes,  confectionery — in  fact  with 
everything,  even  with  flowers  in  crystal  vases  that  were 
a  wonder  to  look  at.  I  went  into  the  room  and  rang 
the  bell  with  violence ;  in  an  instant  a  servant  appeared 
dressed  in  black,  to  whom  I  turned,  and  with  my  head 
well  in  the  air  pronounced  in  a  harsh  firm  voice  the 
one  word — 

"  Breakfast ! " 

The  servant  disappeared,  and  returned  almost  on  the 
instant  with  a  silver  soup-tureen,  which  he  placed  on  the 
table  before  me,  and  then  stationed  himself  behind  me. 
Two  other  servants  brought  me  ham,  tongue,  caviale, 
veal  cutlets,  cold  galantine,  and  then  asked  if  I  wanted 
Madeira,  Bordeaux,  or  Marsala.  I  was  satisfied  with 
the  Bordeaux,  and  also  partook  of  a  plate  of  strawberries  ; 
and  as  a  last  sacrifice,  I  sipped  a  cup  of  Mocha  coffee 
— really  inebriating — lighted  my  cigar,  and  lost  myself 
in  the  thickest  part  of  the  park.  I  was  really  beaming. 
I  felt  restored  in  body,  and  in  a  state  of  perfect  well- 
being,  feeling  a  certain  sort  of  complacency  with  my 
spirit,  my  genius,  my  quickness — my  impertinence,  let 
us  say — which,  au  fond,  was  of  good  service  to  me  and 
did  nobody  any  harm.  Carlo  Bini  assures  us  that  the 


316  AFTER  A   GOOD   BREAKFAST. 

prison  so  sharpened  his  brains  that  it  was  as  much  use 
to  him  in  expressing  his  ideas  as  style  was  : — 

"  La  prigione  e  una  lima  si  sottile, 
Che  aguzzando  il  cervel  ne  fa  uno  stile ; " 

and  does  not  hunger,  I  say,  sharpen  the  brain  ?  I  could 
cite  a  thousand  examples  of  well-known  geniuses  who 
have  grown  up  in  the  midst  of  privations  and  hunger, 
but  I  do  not  wish  to  be  pedantic.  This  I  know  full 
well,  that  I  should  never  have  been  capable  of  such  an 
escapade  had  I  not  had  that  formidable  appetite,  nor 
should  I  have  had  the  idea  of  satisfying  it  in  that  way. 
Necessity  sharpens  the  intellect  to  invent  and  to  act; 
health  and  physical  wellbeing  kindle  and  spur  on  the 
fancy  through  flowering  pathways  of  flattering  hopes. 
Who  knows  with  how  many  beautiful  grilli  and  beautiful 
bright-coloured  butterflies,  swift  of  flight,  a  little  glass  of 
Bordeaux,  or  better  still,  a  glass  of  our  good  Chianti  wine, 
has  brightened  the  life  of  poets  and  artists  ?  I  found 
myself  in  one  of  those  beautiful  dreams.  My  mind 
wandered  from  one  thing  to  another ;  the  past  and  the 
future  were  mixed  up  together.  History  and  fable,  re- 
ligion and  romance,  light  and  serious  love,  the  fantastic 
and  the  positive,  fine  statues,  fine  commissions,  friends 
distinguished  for  rectitude  and  genius, — all  passed  be- 
fore me.  The  flowers  in  the  garden  seemed  to  me  more 
beautiful  and  more  odorous  than  ever,  the  sky  brighter 
and  purer ;  and  never  did  the  hills  of  Artimino,  Careggi, 
or  Fiesole,  populous  with  villas,  seem  to  me  so  fair.  I 
never  gave  a  thought  to  the  Prince  or  to  his  having  sent 
for  me,  any  more  than  if  it  had  been  all  a  dream.  And 
all  was  a  dream ;  for  I  fell  asleep  seated  on  one  of  the 
sofa-chairs  made  of  reeds,  and  in  my  sleep  my  thoughts 
went  back  to  those  beautiful  legends  of  history  and  fable 
— beautiful  women,  fine  statues,  sweet  friends — and  to 


PRINCE  DEMIDOFF'S  COMMISSION.        317 

the  delightful  country,  when  a  slight  touch  on  my  shoul- 
der woke  me  from  my  placid  sleep.  It  was  one  of  the 
Prince's  servants,  who  was  in  quest  of  me  to  take  me  to 
him.  To  judge  from  their  dress,  the  Prince  and  Princess 
must  have  only  been  up  a  short  time.  The  Prince 
was  standing;  he  had  a  cup  in  his  hand,  and  dipped 
some  pieces  of  toasted  bread  into  it.  From  the  odour,  I 
became  aware  that  it  was  consomme.  The  Princess  was 
seated,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  book  of  prints.  She 
was  of  rare  beauty,  and  the  time,  the  place,  and  mild 
season  of  the  year  made  her  seem  even  more  beautiful. 
She  ought  therefore  to  have  seemed  and  to  have  been 
an  object  of  love  and  profound  admiration  to  her  happy 
husband  ;  and  if  you  add  to  the  attractions  of  youth  and 
beauty,  grace  of  education,  culture  of  mind,  and  prestige 
of  birth,  the  affection  of  the  man  who  possessed  her 
should  have  verged  on  idolatry.  But,  alas  !  in  life  such 
perfect  happiness  never  lasts ;  and  the  reader  remembers 
what  I  told  of  the  end  of  this  union. 

"  My  dear  Dupre,  you  have  arrived  a  little  late,  have 
you  not?  I  sent  for  you,  but  you  had  not  yet  come." 

"  Your  Excellency,  let  me  tell  you.  I  arrived  betimes 
— in  fact,  very  early,  as  your  Excellency  indicated  I 

should  do  in  your  note ;  but "    And  here  I  told  him 

the  whole  story  already  known  to  my  reader;  and  I 
cannot  describe  how  delighted  he  and  the  Princess  were 
with  it.  Now  and  again  the  Prince  held  out  his  hand 
to  me,  saying,  "  Bravo  !  In  faith,  I  like  this.  Bravo  !  " 

Then  he  told  me  what  was  the  object  of  his  sending 
for  me.  It  was  to  give  me  an  order  for  a  life-size  statue 
of  Napoleon  I.,  in  the  very  dress  which  he  possessed, 
and  would  furnish  me  with.  He  would  procure  me  a 
good  mask  and  some  authentic  portraits  ;  but  he  begged 
me  to  make  it  in  the  shortest  possible  time.  It  was  very 


318        PRINCE  DEMIDOFF'S  CHARACTER. 

evident  that  he  wanted  to  please  the  Princess,  because 
whilst  he  was  speaking  to  me  he  looked  with  loving 
intensity  at  her,  and  from  time  to  time  caressed  her  with 
a  gentleness  almost  childlike. 

It  has  been  said  that  this  man  was  extravagant  and 
almost  brutal ;  but  when  I  remember  the  expression  of 
radiant  joy  he  had  on  his  face  when  he  was  looking  at 
his  wife  while  proposing  to  give  her  a  statue,  as  if  it  had 
been  only  a  flower  or  a  fan — when  I  recall  that  I  have 
seen  him  shed  warm  tears  for  the  death  of  Bartolini, 
and  when  I  remember  his  great  charity  in  founding  and 
maintaining  the  Asylum  of  Saint  Niccolo, — I  cannot  but 
deplore  the  bad  feeling  and  injustice  of  those  who  take 
pleasure  in  blackening  his  character,  in  misinterpreting 
facts,  and  maligning  his  intentions. 

The  order  for  the  statue  of  Napoleon  proved  a  failure, 
as  also  for  that  of  the  Princess,  owing  to  the  separation 
of  husband  and  wife.  And  now  let  me  go  back  to  my 
place,  for  oh,  how  I  have  wandered  away  from  the  faint- 
ing young  soldiers  in  Hyde  Park  ! 

The  exhibition  of  the  models  competing  for  the 
Duke  of  Wellington's  monument  was  about  to  be 
opened,  so  I  thought  it  better  to  return  home — all  the 
more,  because  I  wished  to  stop  in  Paris  on  my  way  back, 
as  I  had  been  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  see  it  when  I 
came  through.  By  this  time,  nothing  that  there  was 
to  be  seen  in  London  had  escaped  me,  and  I  could 
describe  with  great  precision  the  Docks,  the  Tunnel, 
Westminster,  St  Paul's,  the  Tower  of  London,  the 
Houses  of  Parliament,  &c.,  &c. ;  but  to  what  use?  Are 
there  not  guide-books  ?  And  my  impressions  are  many, 
it  is  true,  and  not  of  the  common  run ;  but  they  would 
require  no  little  space,  and  this  would  change  the  simple 
design  and  form  of  these  papers. 


EXAMINATION  OF  THE  MODELS  IN  LONDON.       319 

.Two  or  three  days  before  the  opening  of  the  exhi- 
bition of  these  models,  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruc- 
tion, accompanied  by  the  royal  commissioner  and  other 
officials,  visited  the  great  hall  at  Westminster,  where  the 
models  were  exhibited.    Some  English  and  a  few  foreign 
artists  thought  proper  to  accompany  the  Minister  when 
he  went  to   inspect  these  works.     As  for  me,    I  felt 
no   such  wish ;   and  not  wanting   to  be  thought  rude, 
and  as  neither  the  commissioner  nor  any  of  the  peo- 
ple with  the  Minister  knew  who  I  was,  I  reclined  in 
my  shirt-sleeves  on  one  of  the  cases  belonging  to  these 
monuments,  and  so  passed  for  a  common  workman  in 
the  hall.     The  commissioner,  in  fact,  only  knew  me  as 
a  person  of  trust,  who  had  some  ability  in  restoring  a 
work  in  plaster.     I  hope  the  reader  has  not  forgotten 
that  little   affair.       I   was  consoled,  however,   by   see- 
ing  that   the  Minister   stopped  some   time  to   look  at 
my  work,   although  he  passed  by  others  in  too  much 
haste,  excusable  in  many  instances,  but  not  in  some, 
where  attention  and  praise  were  merited.     Be  it  as  it 
may,  I  was  well  pleased  that  he  stopped  before  mine — 
and  all  the  more  so,  that  I  did  not  form  a  part  of  his 
Excellency's   suite.     In  fact  I  have   been   always  very 
slow  in  putting  myself  forward  with  Ministers  of  Public 
Works,  and  I  don't  know  to  what  saint  I  owe  this  feel- 
ing of  respect  for  the  Ministry.     With  certain  members 
I  have  had  frank  cordial  relations,  before  they  became 
Excellencies ;  afterwards,  when  once  they  were   in  the 
Ministry,  as   if  by  a   sort   of  magic  they  became   for 
me   such   respectable    personages    that   I   retired   into 
myself,   and    kept   most  willingly   to    my   own    place. 
Then  those  poor  gentlemen  have  so  much  to  do  that, 
without  a  doubt,  if  you  wanted  to  see  them,  you  would 
be  told  that  they  could  not  receive  you.     So  the  fact  of  ' 


320  THE   BASE   OF   THE  TAZZA. 

it  is,  that  I  have  so  much  respect  for  them,  and  just,  so 
much  for  myself,  as  not  to  be  willing  to  annoy  them, 
and  there  is  not  a  Minister  of  Public  Works  who  can 
say,  "This  fellow  has  bored  me  about  this  or  that 
thing."  True  it  is,  that  by  the  grace  of  .God  I  have 
never  felt  the  necessity  of  doing  so.  Once  only,  and 
that  not  on  my  own  account,  but  from  a  sentiment  of 
dignity  and  justice,  negotiations  were  entered  into  with 
the  Ministers  Natoli,  Correnti,  and  Bonghi,  as  to  the 
completion  of  a  base  for  my  Tazza,  which  I  mentioned 
some  time  back  ;  and  as  it  j-ust  fits  in  here,  I  shall  now 
bring  this  story  to  a  close.  The  subject  is  a  delicate, 
and  for  me  a  trying  one,  but  I  shall  discuss  it  with  calm- 
ness, and  in  as  few  short  words  as  truth  and  reason  can 
be  clothed. 

The  base  of  the  Tazza  that  I  had  modelled  was 
either  to  be  cast  in  bronze  or  cut  in  marble,  and  the 
last  was  decided  on.  Whilst  they  were  looking  for  a 
pure  piece  of  close-grained  marble,  the  revolution  took 
place,  and  the  Grand  Duke  left.  My  model  had 
already  been  paid  for,  and  I  hoped  that  the  present 
Government,  sooner  or  later,  would  have  confirmed  the 
commission ;  but  I  hoped  in  vain.  After  several  years 
had  passed,  I  asked  my  friend  Commendatore  Gotti, 
Director  of  the  Royal  Galleries,  to  make  known  my 
claim  to  the  Ministry,  which  was  done ;  but  I  obtained 
nothing.  Later,  Professor  Dall'  Ongaro  spoke  about  it 
to  Correnti,  the  Minister,  and  also  obtained  nothing.  At 
last  Commendatore  D'Ancona  was  most  pressing  in  speak- 
ing to  Bonghi  the  Minister,  and  Betti  the  Secretary ; 
but  then  came  the  fall  of  the  Minister  with  his  Cabinet, 
and  I  was  really  tired  out  by  the  whole  thing,  with  its 
long,  wearisome,  and  useless  negotiations.  I  must  add, 
that  as  the  model  had  already  been  paid  for,  the 


I   LEAVE   LONDON.  321 

expense  for  executing  it  was  all  that  was  required  ;  and 
yet,  notwithstanding  all  these  recommendations,  this 
little  sum  was  not  granted,  and  I  was  not  given  a 
hearing.  And  here  it  is  to  the  purpose  to  remind 
the  Ministers  of  our  Government  that  I  for  more 
than  fifteen  years  have  occupied  the  gratuitous  post 
of  Master  of  Finishing;  and  as  in  the  statute  creat- 
ing this  office  it  is  declared  that  the  Royal  Govern- 
ment is  not  wanting  in  funds  to  pay  the  professors 
who  shall  have  done  the  most  for  the  good  of  their 
young  pupils,  it  is  to  the  purpose,  I  repeat,  to  re- 
mind them  of  the  office  that  I  have  filled,  and  to 
declare  to  them  that  the  pupils  I  have  taught  are  now 
for  the  most  part  young  living  artists — some  of  them 
already  professors,  cavalieri,  and  masters  in  the  schools 
— and  that  meanwhile  I  not  only  have  not  obtained  a 
recompense,  but  even  my  demand,  which  to  my  belief 
was  but  a  matter  of  pure  justice,  was  not  even  listened 
to.  But  enough  of  this.  I  return  to  London,  or  rather 
let  me  say  I  leave  it,  as  my  work  was  finished  and  in 
place,  only  waiting  for  the  judges.  I  therefore  packed 
my  trunk,  paid  my  landlord,  said  good-bye  to  my 
friends,  and  got  into  the  train,  thinking  of  that  blessed 
Channel  where  I  had  suffered  so  much  in  crossing. 


322 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

MY  FATHER'S  DEATH — A  TURN  IN  THE  OMNIBUS— THE  FERRARI  MONUMENT 
— I  KEEP  THE  "SAPPHO"  FOR  MYSELF — THE  "  TIRED  BACCHANTE  "  AND  THE 
LITTLE  MODEL — RAPHAEL  AND  THE  FORNARINA  —  THE  MADONNA  AND 
BAS-RELIEFS  AT  SANTA  CROCE  AND  CAVAL1ERE  SLOANE — MY  DAUGHTER 
AMALIA  AND  HER  WORKS  —  MY  DAUGHTER  BEPPINA  —  DESCRIPTION  OF 
THE  BAS-RELIEF  ON  THE  FACADE  OF  SANTA  CROCE — I  AM  TAKEN  FOR 
THE  WRONG  PERSON  BY  THE  HOLY  FATHER  PIUS  IX. — MARSHAL  HAYNAU 
— PROFESSOR  BEZZUOLI  AND  HAYNAU's  PORTRAIT. 

Y  stay  in  London  had  been  rather  a  long  one, 
but  it  was  necessary  for  the  restorations  (and 
what  restorations  !)  of  my  work,  and  also  to 
see  the  wonders  of  art  collected  by  that 
powerful  nation,  by  force  of  will,  money,  and  time.  I 
stayed  there  about  two  months ;  and  notwithstanding  the 
many  and  novel  distractions  which  that  vast  city  offered, 
and  the  good  health  I  enjoyed  at  that  time  under  a 
climate  so  different  from  ours,  I  felt  every  day  more 
and  more  keenly  the  ardent  desire  to  see  my  family,  so 
that  when  I  arrived  in  Paris  I  delayed  very  little.  The 
letters  which  I  received  from  home  breathed  the  same 
affectionate  longing  that  I  felt  myself;  and  the  gay, 
thoughtless  life  of  Paris,  instead  of  attracting  me,  dis- 
gusted me.  My  daughters  by  their  mother's  side  in  our 
little  parlour  were  always  present  to  me ;  and  knowing 
their  dispositions,  and  the  loving  wisdom  of  the  mother, 
I  felt  that  tender,  holy  joy  which  is  difficult  to  describe, 


MY  FATHER'S  ILLNESS— DEATH  OF  ROSA.    323 

but  such  as  a  loving  and  beloved  father  feels  for  his  dear 
ones.  I  had  lost  two  years  ago  my  poor  father  from 
cholera.  The  poor  old  man  had  at  first  resisted  the 
fury  of  that  tremendous  disease.  He  lived  at  the  Carra, 
beyond  Porta  al  Prato.  All  around  death  reaped  its 
victims, — young  and  old,  poor  and  rich;  it  spared  no 
one.  Almost  every  evening,  at  dusk,  I  went  to  him  to 
assure  myself  of  his  health.  One  evening  I  found  him 
unwell  and  in  bed ;  but  he  had  no  fever,  and  his  servant- 
maid,  a  good  girl,  served  him  with  affectionate  zeal.  I 
left  him  quiet.  On  going  away  I  urged  her  to  be  atten- 
tive to  my  father  through  fear  of  the  epidemic  then 
raging.  The  girl  assured  me  that  I  need  not  doubt  of 
her  being  so,  and  that  I  might  be  tranquil.  The  next 
evening  I  went  back  to  see  him :  he  was  still  in  bed, 
and  was  better ;  but  he  told  me  that  he  stayed  there  as  a 
precaution,  and  that  he  was  to  get  up  the  following  day, 
having  the  physician's  permission  to  do  so.  The  door 
had  been  opened  for  me  by  a  little  boy,  to  whom  he 
gave  lessons  in  drawing  and  ornamentation — Gabriello 
Maranghi — who  to-day  is  one  of  our  ornamental  marble- 
workers. 

"  Oh,  Rosa,"  I  said  to  my  father;  "where  is  she?  " 
"  Rosa,  poor  thing,  died  this  morning.  She  came 
back  from  marketing,  put  down  her  things,  went  into 
her  room,  and  I  have  not  seen  her  since.  They  carried 
her  away  a  short  time  ago  ! " — and  the  poor  old  man  was 
much  moved. 

This  sudden  news  of  a  death  so  instantaneous  upset 
me  and  frightened  me  for  my  poor  father.  It  was  the 
same  whether  he  stayed  there  or  was  carried  elsewhere, 
for  in  every  district  they  died  in  the  same  way.  I  went 
away  sad  at  heart.  The  next  day  he  got  up,  and  was 
pretty  well,  even  gay — in  fact,  for  several  days  continued 


324  DEATH   OF   MY   FATHER. 

well,  and  went  on  with  his  work  as  usual.  One  morning 
— it  was  Sunday — my  wife,  who  had  got  up  before  me, 
came  into  the  bedroom,  waked  me  up,  and  said — 

"  Nanni,  get  up  ;  father  is  ill." 

I  looked  in  my  wife's  face,  and  read  there  the  nature 
and  gravity  of  my  poor  father's  illness.  I  ran  to  him ; 
he  recognised  me,  and  said — 

"  My  good  Giannino,  you  have  done  well  to  come 
quickly  to  your  father ;  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  before 
I  die." 

He  lived  all  day,  but  had  spasms  of  pain  and  wan- 
dered in  mind.  Then  he  died,  and  his  face  became 
serene,  as  if  he  were  sleeping  peacefully.  Whoever  has 
lost  a  father  knows  the  kind  of  grief  it  is  ! 

As  I  have  said,  I  stayed  but  a  few  days  in  Paris.  I 
saw,  on  the  wing  as  it  were,  and  without  being  able  to 
study  them,  the  monuments  of  art  in  which  that  great 
capital  is  rich.  I  repeat,  I  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to 
return  home.  Of  the  artists,  I  saw  only  Gendron,  whom 
I  had  known  in  Florence ;  Anieni,  a  Roman ;  and  Prince 
Joseph  Poniatowsky,  then  in  his  prime.  What  was  most 
to  my  taste  was  to  ride  up  and  down  the  streets  of  Paris 
in  an  omnibus  to  get  an  idea  of  the  movement  and 
grandeur  of  that  city ;  but  an  incident  occurred  to  me 
that  prevented  my  having  that  desire  any  longer,  and  I 
should  have  put  an  end  to  this  going  up  and  down  even 
if  I  had  not  already  determined  upon  my  departure. 
This  was  what  happened.  I  had  just  come  from  a  walk 
in  the  Champs  Elysees,  when  I  saw  the  omnibus  which 
goes  from  the  Barriere  du  Trone  to  the  Madeleine  stand- 
ing still.  I  said  to  myself :  "  Very  good ;  I  will  get  in  here, 
go  through  all  the  Boulevards  as  far  as  the  Barriere,  and 
without  even  descending,  turn  about  again,  and  when  I 
get  back  to  the  Rue  du  Helder  (where  I  lodged),  I  will 


I   RETURN   TO   FLORENCE.  325 

get  out  and  go  home.  The  omnibus  started,  drove 
through  all  the  Boulevards  des  Italiens,  des  Capucines, 
Poissonniere,  &c.,  and  arrived  at  the  Barriere.  The 
passengers  got  out,  the  omnibus  stopped,  and  the  con- 
ductor said  to  me, — 

"  Monsieur,  descendez,  s'il  vous  plait '."    . 
I  answered,  "Je  ne  descends  pas  moi." 
"  Pourquoi done?" 

"  Parce  que  je  retourne  sur  mon  chemin" 
The  ill-concealed  laughter  made  me  aware  of  my  mis- 
take, and  the  conductor,  with  good  manners,  gave  me  to 
understand  that  the  drive  ended  there,  and  on  account 
of  the  lateness  of  the  hour  there  was  no  return  trip.  I 
got  out,  and  was  at  least  four  miles  from  home.  To  find 
a  carriage,  I  was  obliged  to  take  a  long  walk  towards  the 
centre  of  Paris,  and  finally  found  one,  and  had  myself 
conveyed  home,  muttering  against  my  own  stupidity. 
The  next  day,  without  turning  either  to  the  right  or  to 
the  left,  I  returned  to  Italy, — to  dear,  beautiful  Flor- 
ence ;  to  the  bosom  of  my  family ;  to  my  studies ;  to 
my  works ;  to  my  good  pupils ;  to  my  faithful  work- 
men; and  to  my  dear  friends.  Fortune  had  favoured 
me  in  London :  my  work  had  gained  one  of  the  first 
prizes  in  the  competition.  Another  prize  was  obtained 
also  by  Professor  Cambi. 

I  had  scarcely  got  back  from  London  when  Count 
Ferrari  Corbelli  ordered  from  me  the  monument  for  his 
wife,  the  Countess  Berta,  whom  he  had  lost  a  few  days 
before.  This  work,  which  he  wished  to  see  finished  as 
soon  as  possible,  was  the  cause  of  my  abandoning  the 
group  of  the  "  Deluge,"  which  I  had  already  sketched,  as 
I  have  before  stated.  The  monument  was  composed 
of  a  base,  on  which  was  placed  the  urn  containing 
the  body  of  the  deceased.  Modesty  and  Charity,  the 


326  COUNTESS   FERRARI   CORBELLI. 

principal  virtues  of  the  departed  Countess,  stand  lean- 
ing on  the  angles  of  the  sarcophagus,  and  above  these 
the  Angel  of  the  Resurrection  points  the  way  to  heaven 
for  the  soul  of  the  Countess,  snatched  from  the  love 
of  her  husband  and  children.  The  monument  stands 
under  an  arch,  on  which  are  three  putti  who  hold  up 
some  folds  as  if  they  were  opening  the  curtain  of 
heaven.  The  background  is  encrusted  with  lapis-lazuli. 
This  monument  is  placed  in  the  Church  of  San  Lorenzo, 
in  the  chapel  next  to  the  sacristy.  My  friend  Augusto 
Conti  liked  the  conception  of  this  monument,  but  ob- 
jected to  the  nudity  of  the  child  of  Charity.  I  have  a 
sincere  respect  for  his  criticism,  as  I  respect  also  the 
one  he  made  on  the  monument  to  Cavour.  He  is  a 
profound  and  conscientious  critic  of  art;  and  besides 
this,  he  has  had,  and  has,  for  me  and  my  family,  a  truly 
fraternal  love,  and  I  remember  with  emotion  the  part 
which  he  took  during  the  illness  and  death  of  my 
daughter  and  my  wife. 

Contemporaneously  with  this  work  I  modelled  a 
"  Sappho,"  and  put  it  at  once  into  marble,  by  order 
of  Signer  Angiolo  Gatti,  a  dealer  in  statues ;  but  it 
happened  that  when  he  should  have  received  the  statue 
he  had  no  funds,  and  so  I  sent  it  to  our  Italian  Exhibi- 
tion. The  Government,  which  had  set  apart  a  sum  of 
money  for  the  acquisition  of  the  best  works  of  art, 
decided  not  to  take  my  statue,  so  I  have  it  by  me 
now.  It  seems  to  me  (I  confess  the  weakness)  as  if 
I  had  been  wronged,  so  to  speak,  and  as  if  my  poor 
"  Sappho"  resented  this  wrong  from  the  new  Phaons:  so  I 
have  wished  to  keep  my  faith  with  her,  since  the  deser- 
tion of  her  lover  had  caused  her  death  ;  and  although  I 
have  several  times  had  offers  not  to  be  despised,  yet  I 
have  never  been  willing  to  sell  her.  Who  can  tell  where 


MODEL   OF   THE   "BACCHANTE."  327 

this  poor  "  Sappho  "  will  be,  and  how  situated,  after  my 
death  ? 

At  this  same  time  —  that  is,  in  1857  —  I  made  the 
model  of  the  "Tired  Bacchante";  and  the  idea  of  this 
figure  was  suggested  to  me  by  a  little  model  who  was 
brought  to  me  by  her  mother,  and  who  had  never 
before  been  seen  naked  by  any  one.  The  freshness  of 
this  young  girl,  her  unspoiled  figure,  the  delicate  beauty, 
somewhat  sensual,  of  her  face,  suggested  as  a  subject 
the  "  Tired  Dancer,"  which  afterwards  was  converted  to 
a  "Bacchante";  and  as  some  time  before  I  had  made 
a  little  statue,  representing  Gratitude,  for  the  Signora 
Maria  Nerli  of  Siena,  the  general  lines  of  that  statuette 
served  me  as  a  sketch  for  this.  But  were  I  to  say  that 
it  was  only  the  beauty  of  the  model,  the  subject  suggest- 
ed so  spontaneously  to  me,  and  the  composition  already 
made,  that  persuaded  me  to  keep  the  girl  and  make  the 
statue,  I  should  not  be  telling  the  exact  truth.  The 
mother  of  this  girl  was  one  of  those  women  who  not 
only  throw  aside  all  a  mother's  duty  and  responsibility, 
but  despising  all  decency,  show  that  they  are  capable 
of  worse  things.  I  tried  at  first  to  dissuade  her  from 
taking  the  young  girl  about  to  studios,  and  so  forcing 
her  to  lose  all  that  a  maiden  has  most  precious — mod- 
esty; nor  was  I  silent  about  the  perils  that  she  was 
exposing  her  to.  But  my  words  were  thrown  away, 
for  she  smiled  at  them  as  if  they  were  childish :  so 
I  kept  the  young  girl  and  made  the  statue.  I  can 
assure  you  that  she  was  a  good  young  creature,  and 
when  I  had  finished  the  model  I  dismissed  her  with 
paternal  words.  I  saw  her  many  years  after,  so  changed 
and  sad,  that  one  could  hardly  recognise  her.  She  told 
me  her  sad  story,  —  a  name  was  on  her  lips,  but  a 
daughter's  love  made  her  conceal  it  I  repeat,  she 


328  THE   NUDE   MODEL. 

was  good,  and  suffered,  but  not  by  any  fault  of  hers.  I 
have  never  seen  her  again :  perhaps  she  is  dead — the 
only  good  thing  that  can  befall  .any  of  those  unhappy 
creatures. 

To  some  it  may  seem  as  if  I  have  been  rather 
tedious  about  this  poor  Traviata;  but  most  people,  I 
hope,  have  found  my  indignation  reasonable,  for  the 
condition  of  such  a  girl  as  this  is  most  sad  and  humil- 
iating,— forced  by  her  mother,  who  ought  to  be  the 
jealous  guardian  of  the  modesty  and  innocence  of  her 
child,  to  strip  herself  naked  before  a  man.  Even 
though  her  mother  remain  there  present,  it  is  always 
a  hard  thing,  and  most  disagreeable  to  a  young  woman 
jealous  of  her  good  name,  and  dreading  the  looks  and 
thoughts  of  the  man  there  before  her.  It  is  not  even 
impossible  that  it  may  be  thought  I  have  studiously  and 
affectedly  deplored  such  cases  as  these,  as  if  I  wished 
to  show  myself  better  than  I  am.  I  have  no  answer 
to  give  to  any  one  who  thinks  thus,  for  in  these  papers 
he  will  find  nothing  to  justify  such  an  opinion.  I  only 
desire  to  remind  the  profane  in  art,  that  when  we  have 
a  model  before  us,  our  mind  and  all  our  strength  is  so 
absorbed  in  our  work,  and  the  difficulties  are  so  great 
in  taking  from  nature  just  so  much  as  is  required  for 
the  character,  expression,  and  form  of  our  subject,  that 
nothing  else  affects  us.  He  who  does  not  credit  this  is 
not  an  artist,  and  does  not  feel  art. 

I  see  a  little  smile  of  incredulity,  almost  of  triumph, 
come  over  the  face  of  my  unbelieving  reader,  and  the 
old  story,  so  often  sung  and  perhaps  exaggerated,  of 
Raphael  and  the  Fornarina  placed  before  me,  to  belie 
my  words.  This  case  of  Raphael  and  the  Fornarina 
was  a  unique  one,  and  quite  different  from  the  ordinary 
relations  that  exist  between  the  artist  and  his  models. 


RAPHAEL  AND   THE   FORNARINA.  329 

A  model  is  for  us  like  an  instrument  or  a  tool,  necessary 
for  our  work.  If  good  and  beautiful,  we  prize  her  and 
respect  her  as  we  would  a  good  tool ;  if  neither  beautiful 
nor  good,  we  bid  her  be  off.  The  Fornarina  was  beau- 
tiful, and  perhaps  she  may  have  been  even  good ;  but 
unfortunately  she  was  of  a  sanguine  temperament,  im- 
aginative, and  ardent,  as  she  appears  from  the  portraits 
Raphael  has  left  of  her.  The  graceful  nature,  the  deli- 
cate figure  of  the  young  artist,  and  the  prestige  of  his 
fame,  roused  the  love  and  ambition  of  the  beautiful 
Trasteverina. 

"Amor  che  a  nullo  amato  amar  perdona,"  1 
"  Love,  that  exempts  no  one  beloved  from  loving," 

seized  hold  of  that  angel  and  smothered  him  in  its 
embrace.  What  has  this  most  fatal  story  to  do  with 
our  usual  artistic  life?  To-day  there  are  no  more 
Fornarinas,  and,  above  all,  there  are  no  Raphaels ; 
and  if  by  chance  an  artist  falls  in  love  with  his  model, 
why,  he  marries  her,  and  there  is  an  end  of  it.  In 
conclusion,  a  good  and  beautiful  model  that  willingly 
and  honestly  (I  use  this  word  for  want  of  a  better)  does 
her  business,  I  like  and  employ;  but  a  simple,  good- 
natured,  ignorant  young  girl  forced  to  this  shame  by  her 
own  mother,  irritates  me  and  makes  me  sad. 

At  this  time  they  were  making  the  facade  of  the  Church 
of  Santa  Croce,  with  the  most  valuable  aid  of  Cavaliere 
Sloane,  to  whom  we  are  chiefly  indebted  that  it  was  pos- 
sible to  complete  this  work.  In  the  design  of  the  facade 
there  were  bas-reliefs  in  the  arches  over  the  three  doors  : 
over  the  middle  door  the  "  Triumph  of  the  Cross  ";  over 
that  of  the  right  nave  the  "  Vision  of  Constantine  " ;  and 
over  the  other,  on  the  left,  the  "  Refinding  of  the  Cross." 
1  Dante,  Inferno,  canto  v. 


330  BAS-RELIEFS  ON   SANTA   CROCK. 

I  had  already  made  for  the  fagade  the  Madonna,  who 
stands  high  up  over  the  cuspide  of  the  middle  door  ;  and 
because  the  subject  was  dear  to  me,  as  also  the  idea 
which  it  should  convey,  I  was  content  with  a  price 
which  would  barely  cover  the  cost  of  making  it,  without 
counting  my  work  on  the  model.  But  these  three  bas- 
reliefs  were  much  more  arduous  work ;  and  as  I  could 
not  make  them  at  the  same  rate  as  I  had  made  the 
Madonna,  I  refused.  Cavaliere  Sloane,  however,  who 
much  desired  that  these  bas-reliefs  should  be  made, 
came  to  me  and  begged  me  to  accept  them.  As  to  the 
price,  he  assured  me  that  we  should  agree,  and  that  he 
would  himself  pay  it,  because  he  wished  that  the  fagade 
should  be  made  by  me.  I  took  time  to  reply,  and  re- 
flecting that  the  three  bas-reliefs  would  take  much  more 
time  than  I  had  to  dispose  of,  and  desiring  to  help  my 
two  clever  and  affectionate  pupils,  I  proposed  to  Cava- 
liere Sloane  to  divide  this  labour  into  three  parts.  The 
larger  bas-relief,  that  over  the  central  door,  I  would 
make ;  the  other  two,  over  the  lateral  doors,  should  be 
made,  one  by  Sarrocchi  of  Siena,  and  the  other  by 
Emilio  Zocchi  of  Florence.  Sloane  was  satisfied  with  my 
proposition,  but  with  the  understanding  that  I  should  be 
answerable  for  the  excellence  of  these  works,  and  while 
I  should  leave  these  artists  freedom  in  their  conceptions, 
I  should  direct  them  in  such  conceptions  as  well  as  in 
the  execution.  This  I  formally  promised  to  do,  and  the 
work  was  decided  upon. 

These  bas-reliefs,  which  I  relinquished  to  my  scholars, 
recall  to  my  mind  other  works  also  given  up  to  scholars, 
but  not  mine.  Among  these  is  Professor  Costa  of  Flor- 
ence. In  the  beginning  of  my  artistic  career,  when  I  was 
making  the  "Cain"  and  "Abel,"  "Giotto,"  and  "  Pius  II.," 
I  had  also  a  commission  to  make  a  statue  representing 


MY   DAUGHTER   AMALIA.  331 

Summer,  for  one  of  the  four  seasons  which  ornament  the 
palace  once  called  Batelli.  This  commission,  though  a 
poor  one,  I  should  have  executed,  because  I  had  en- 
gaged to  do  so,  and  poor  Batelli  had  urged  it  in  a  friendly 
way;  but  Pietro  Costa,  then  very  young,  studious,  and 
aeedy,  begged  it  of  me,  and  I,  with  the  consent  of  the 
person  who  had  given  the  commission,  gave  it  up  to  him, 
and  it  was  a  great  success. 

Now  that  I  am  speaking  of  my  scholars,  it  is  but  just 
that  I  should  mention  my  daughter  Amalia.  She  used 
at  that  time  to  come  and  see  me  in  my  studio  with  her 
mother  and  sisters ;  and  while  the  little  Beppina  and 
Gigina  stayed  out  in  the  little  square  playing  together 
and  gathering  flowers,  Amalia  remained  in  my  studio 
silently  watching  me  at  work.  When  her  mother  was 
getting  ready  to  take  her  home,  she  was  so  unwilling  to 
tear  herself  away  from  gazing  at  my  work,  that  I  asked 
her  one  day — 

"  Would  you  like  to  do  this  work  ?  " 

"  Yes,  papa,"  the  child  quickly  replied. 

"  Well,  then,"  I  said,  "  stay  with  me." 

Then  I  turned  to  my  wife  and  said,  "  Leave  Amalia 
with  me  for  company ;  she  can  return  home  with  me." 
I  arranged  a  slate  on  a  little  easel  in  form  of  a  reading- 
desk  for  her,  prepared  some  bits  of  clay,  and  showed  her 
how  to  spread  the  clay  to  a  certain  thickness  on  the  slate 
as  a  foundation ;  then  I  placed  before  her  a  small  figure 
of  one  of  the  bas-reliefs  from  the  doors  of  San  Giovanni, 
by  Andrea  Pisano,  and  I  said  to  her, — "  With  this  little 
pointed  stick  you  must  draw  in  the  figure,  then  you 
must  put  on  clay  to  get  the  relief;  but  first  I  must  see  if 
your  drawing  is  like  the  original.  Only  the  outline  is 
necessary,  and  this  line  should  only  reproduce  the  move- 
ment and  proportion  of  the  little  figure  you  have  before 


332          AMALIA   DUPR&   AND   HER   WORKS. 

you.  Do  you  understand  ?  "  The  child  understood  so 
well,  that,  at  the  first  trial,  she  traced  all  the  outline  of 
the  figure  correctly.  It  must,  however,  be  remembered 
that  Amalia  and  her  sisters  had  taken  lessons  in  drawing 
from  me,  and  had  always  kept  them  up. 

From  that  day  to  this  Amalia  has  never  left  the  studio, 
and  art  has  become  so  dear  a  thing  to  her  that  she  can 
now  no  longer  do  without  it.  Her  works  are  well  known. 
Besides  portraits,  of  which  she  has  many,  the  greater 
number  of  them  in  marble,  she  has  modelled  and  exe- 
cuted in  marble  various  statues  and  bas-reliefs.  The 
statues  are  :  the  "  Child  Giotto,"  Dante's  "  Matelda,"  "  St 
Peter  in  Chains,"  the  Monument  of  the  Signora  Adele 
Stracchi,  and  that  of  our  dearest  Luisina — statues  all  life- 
size,  and  except  the  "  Matelda  "  and  "  St  Peter,"  all  cut 
in  marble ;  also  two  small  statues,  a  "  St  John,"  and  an 
Angel  throwing  water,  for  the  baptismal  font  in  a  rich 
chapel  of  one  of  Marchese  Nerli's  villas ;  also  a  little 
Angel,  still  in  plaster,  and  a  group  of  the  Madonna  and 
Child  with  a  lamb,  for  the  Church  of  Badia  in  Florence. 
The  bas-reliefs  are :  the  Madonna,  accompanied  by  an 
angel,  taking  to  her  arms  the  youthful  soul  of  the  daughter 
of  the  Duchess  Ravaschieri  of  Naples.  For  Arezzo  :  the 
Sisters  of  Charity  conducting  the  asylum  children  to  the 
tomb  ofCavaliere  Aleotti,  in  act  of  prayer  and  gratitude; 
eight  saints  in  bas-relief  for  the  pulpit  of  the  Cathedral 
of  San  Miniato ;  four  bas-reliefs  for  monuments  in  that 
same  cathedral  to  the  following  persons — "Religion" 
for  Bishop  Poggi,  "History"  for  Bernardo  Buonaparte, 
"Physics"  for  Professor  Taddei,  and  "Poesy"  for  the 
poet  Bagnoli ;  a  font,  with  a  small  statue  of  Sant'  Eduvige, 
for  the  Countess  Talon  of  Paris  ;  a  bas-relief  for  the  lun- 
ette over  the  door  of  my  new  studio  at  Pinti;  a  little 
bronze  copy  of  the  "  Pieta";  a  copy  of  the  "  Justice,"  also 


AMALIA'S  CHARACTER.  333 

in  bronze ;  a  statuette  of  St  Joseph,  and  a  statue  of  St 
Catherine  of  Siena,  in  terra  cotta,  for  the  chapel  of  a  pious 
refuge  for  poor  children  at  Siena ;  a  little  group  in  marble 
of  the  Virtil  teologali  for  Signer  Raffaello  Agostini  of 
Florence;  and  a  large  statue,  life-size,  of  the  Madonna 
Addolorata,  in  terra  cotta,  for  the  Church  of  St  Emidio  at 
Agnone.  All  these  works,  you  understand,  were  done 
by  her  as  a  pleasant  way  of  exercising  herself  in  her  art, 
gratuitously,  as  is  most  natural ;  but  it  did  not  so  appear 
to  the  tax-agent,  who,  however,  was  obliged  to  correct 
himself  by  cancelling  her  name  from  the  roll  of  tax- 
payers, where  it  had  been  put.  Poor  Amalia,  working 
from  pure  love  of  art,  doing  good  by  giving  your  work 
away,  and  often  the  worse  for  it  in  your  pocket;  and 
then  to  behold  yourself  taxed  in  the  exercise  and  sale  of 
your  work  !  A  pretty  thing  indeed  ! 

As  I  am  now  on  a  subject  that  attracts  me,  I  cannot 
tear  myself  from  it  in  such  a  hurry.  It  is  not  permit- 
ted me  to  speak  of  the  artistic  merit  of  my  daughter. 
My  opinion  would  be  a  prejudiced  one,  both  as  father 
and  as  master,  and  therefore  I  have  restricted  myself 
only  to  note  down  the  works  that  she  has  done  so  far ; 
but  I  cannot  refrain  from  making  known  the  internal 
satisfaction  I  feel  in  seeing  my  teaching  productive  of 
such  good  fruit.  It  fell  on  ground  so  well  prepared  that 
it  sprouted  out  abundantly  and  spontaneously.  The 
consolation  a  master  feels  when  he  sees  his  pupil  under- 
stand and  almost  divine  his  thought,  is  very  great ;  and 
when  this  pupil  is  his  own  daughter,  one  may  imagine 
how  much  the  greater  it  is.  And  when  I  think  of  her 
modest  nature,  shrinking  from  praise,  desirous  of  good, 
tender  and  compassionate  with  the  poor  in  their  sorrow, 
grieving  as  I  do  for  the  many  irreparable  family  misfor- 
tunes, I  still  thank  the  Lord  that  He  has  let  me  keep  this 


334  THE   FACADE   OF   SANTA   CROCK. 

angel,  and  also  my  other  daughter  Beppina,  who  is  not  less 
loving  to  us  and  to  her  husband,  by  whom  her  love  is  re- 
turned in  a  Christian  spirit.  She  also  is  endowed  by  nature 
with  sentiment  for  art,  and  her  drawings  and  certain 
little  models  in  clay  are  the  indications  of  wide-awake, 
ready  aptitude.  I  treasure  a  bust  of  Dante  that  she 
modelled,  and  that  was  cut  in  marble,  and  deplore  that 
the  new  life  she  has  entered  upon,  and  perhaps  a  deli- 
cate feeling  of  consideration  for  her  sister,  have  made 
her  desist  from  the  continuation  of  a  career  well  begun. 
Now  she  is  a  mother;  and  the  duties  of  a  mother  are 
so  noble  and  so  arduous  as  to  repress  any  other  tenden- 
cies even  more  natural  to  her  and  more  attractive. 

Now  let  us  return  to  the  facade  of  Santa  Croce.  I 
ordered  the  "  Refinding  of  the  Cross  "  from  Sarrocchi, 
and  the  "  Vision  of  Constantine  "  from  Zocchi ;  and  both 
Zocchi  and  Sarrocchi  set  themselves  at  once  to  work. 
Here  is  the  explanation  of  the  conception  of  my  bas- 
relief:  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  "  Triumph  or  Exaltation 
of  the  Cross  "  ought  to  be  explained  by  means  of  persons 
or  personifications  that  the  Cross,  with  its  divine  love, 
had  won  or  conquered.  The  sign  of  the  Cross  stands 
on  high  resplendent  with  light,  and  around  it  are  angels 
in  the  act  of  adoration.  Under  the  Cross,  and  in  the 
centre  of  the  bas-relief  on  the  summit  of  a  mountain, 
there  is  an  angel  in  the  act  of  prayer,  expressive  of  the 
attraction  of  the  human  soul  towards  Divinity.  By 
means  of  prayer  descends  the  grace  that  warms  and 
illuminates  the  intellect  and  affections  of  man.  The 
affections  and  intellect,  divided  from  the  Cross,  again 
return  to  the  Cross,  and  are  expressed  by  the  following 
figures  that  stand  below  :  A  liberated  slave,  half  seated, 
half  reclining,  with  his  face  and  eyes  turned  upward, 
expressive  of  gratitude  for  his  liberation, — for  from  the 


BAS-RELIEF,  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  CROSS.      335 

Cross  descended  and  spread  over  all  the  earth  that 
divine  word  of  human  brotherhood ;  and  near  the  slave 
a  savage  on  his  knees,  leaning  on  his  club ;  the  stupidity 
and  fierceness  of  whose  look  are  subdued  and  illuminated 
by  the  splendour  of  the  Cross.  These  two  impersona- 
tions are  in  the  centre  below,  leaving  the  space  to  the 
right  and  left  for  the  following  personages  :  On  the  right 
of  the  person  looking  at  the  bas-relief  is  Constantine 
unsheathing  his  sword  when  he  beheld  the  sign  and 
heard  the  words,  "  In  hoc  signo  vinces " ;  near  Constan- 
tine is  the  Countess  Matilda,  whose  pious  attitude  re- 
vealed her  strong  love  for  the  Church  of  Christ,  and 
enabled  it  to  put  up  a  barrier  against  foreign  arrogance, 
and  to  defend  the  liberty  of  the  Italian  Communes ;  be- 
hind her,  nearly  hidden,  owing  to  her  holy  timidity,  the 
Magdalen,  to  indicate  that  the  ardours  of  lust  were 
conquered  by  the  fire  of  divine  love.  On  his  knees, 
bent  to  the  ground,  with  his  face  in  his  hands,  is 
St  Paul  the  elect,  who  from  an  enemy  had  become 
the  strenuous  defender  of  the  Gospel  and  apostle 
of  the  Gentiles.  St  Thomas,  with  one  knee  on  the 
ground,  a  book  in  his  hand,  in  a  modest  pensive  atti- 
tude, recalls  the  words  of  Jesus,  who  said,  "  Bene 
scriptisti  de  me,  Thoma"  A  little  in  the  background, 
near  Constantine,  is  the  Emperor  Heraclius,  dressed  in 
sad  raiment,  commemorative  of  the  wars  against  the 
Christians;  and  a  Roman  soldier  bearing  the  standard 
inscribed  with  "S.P.Q.R."  closes  the  composition  on 
this  part  of  the  bas-relief.  On  the  left  side  the  principal 
figure  is  Charlemagne;  an  unsheathed  sword  is  in  one 
hand,  and  in  the  other  a  globe  with  a  cross,  emblems 
of  his  vast  dominions  and  his  mission  of  propagating  the 
true  faith ;  he  also  represents  the  greatest  material  power 
conquered  for  the  glory  of  the  Cross.  Dante  is  near 


336  THE   TRIUMPH   OF   THE   CROSS. 

him — the  greatest  Christian  intellectual  power — and  he 
holds  in  his  hand  the  three  '  Canticles,'  called  by  him 
'  Poema  Sacro.'  Near  Dante  the  poor  monk  of  Assisi, 
with  his  hands  pressed  to  his  breast,  looking  lovingly 
and  with  fixed  attention  at  the  Cross.  In  these  three 
figures  are  represented  the  dominator  of  the  world,  the 
dominator  of  the  spirit,  and  the  dominator  of  poverty 
and  humility  attracted  by  love  of  the  Cross.  To  com- 
plete this  group  you  see  St  Augustine  in  his  episcopal 
robes,  holding  in  his  hand  a  volume  of  'The  City  of 
God ' ;  and  behind  them  a  martyr  with  a  palm,  as  pen- 
dant to  the  Roman  soldier  on  the  opposite  side. 

Such  is  the  composition  of  the  "  Triumph  of  the  Cross," 
which  is  above  the  middle  door  of  that  temple  where  the 
ashes  of  Michael  Angelo  and  Galileo  rest,  and  where  it 
has  been  my  desire  for  so  many  years  that  a  memorial 
monument  to  Leonardo  da  Vinci  should  be  placed. 
And,  vain  though  it  be,  I  shall  always  call  for  it  louder 
and  louder,  the  more  that  I  see  the  mediocrity  that  a 
want  of  taste  continues  to  erect  there. 

As  it  is  not  permissible  for  me  to  speak  of  the  praise 
I  had  for  this  work,  I  will  not  pass  over  in  silence  a 
criticism  that  was  made  to  me  about  my  having  selected 
the  Countess  Matilda  to  put  into  my  composition.  It  was 
objected  that  the  Countess  Matilda  served  the  Pope,  served 
the  Church  of  Rome,  but  did  not  do  homage  especially  to 
the  Cross.  I  have  given  the  reason  of  her  serving  the 
Pope.  I  have  already  given  a  few  words  in  explanation 
of  that  personage ;  and  as  for  the  distinction  that  there 
is  between  the  Church  of  Christ  and  Christ  Himself,  I 
must  frankly  say  that  I  do  not  understand  it.  Let  not 
the  reader  believe,  however,  that  I  am  one  of  those 
Christians  desirous  of  being  more  Christian  than  the  Pope 
himself,  and  excessively  intolerant  and  passionate.  No; 


PIUS   IX.   IN   FLORENCE.  337 

I  am  with  the  teaching  of  the  apostles,  and  that  seems 
to  me  enough,  for  it  includes  all,  even  comprising  the 
beautiful  exhortation  of  Father  Dante,  when  he  says — 

"  Avete  il  vecchio  e  il  nuovo  Testament o, 
E  il  pastor  della  Chiesa  che  vi  guida,"1  &c. 

"  Ye  have  the  Old  and  the  New  Testament, 
And  the  pastor  of  the  Church  who  guideth  you. " 

In  fact — not  now,  but  soon — I  will  let  you  know,  and 
touch  with  your  hand,  so  to  speak,  the  fact  that  I  am 
not  in  the  good  graces  of  some  of  those  people  who 
depicted  me  to  the  eyes  of  the  Holy  Father  after  the 
manner  of  a  bad  barocco  painter — falsifying  proportions, 
character,  and  expression.  But,  as  I  have  said,  I  will 
return  to  this  later  on ;  and  meanwhile,  I  must  say 
that  the  Holy  Father  did  not  know  me  at  all,  as 
the  only  time  that  I  had  the  honour  of  bending  before 
him  and  kissing  his  foot  he  took  me  for  another 
person.  And  it  occurred  when  the  Pontiff  Pius  IX. 
passed  through  Florence  after  his  tour  through  the 
Romagna.  The  Grand  Duke  did  all  the  honours  of 
Florence  to  him.  During  the  few  days  that  he  re- 
mained in  Florence  the  Grand  Duke  accompanied  him 
wherever  he  thought  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to 
go,  and,  amongst  other  places,  he  took  him  to  visit  the 
manufactory  of  pietre  dure,  and  the  Academy  of  Fine 
Arts;  and  on  this  occasion  our  president  invited  the 
College  of  Professors  to  be  present,  that  we  might  see 
the  Holy  Father  near,  and  perform  an  act  of  reverence 
to  the  Supreme  Hierarch.  The  Pope  was  seated  on  an 
elevated  place  like  a  throne ;  on  his  left  was  the  Grand 
Duke  ;  the  Ministers,  dignitaries,  and  our  president  were 
standing  near  him.  We  were  called,  one  by  one,  and  pre- 

1  Dante,  Paradise,  canto  5. 
Y 


338  A   MISTAKE   OF   PIUS   IX. 

sented  by  our  president,  Marchese  Luca  Bourbon  del 
Monte,  to  the  Holy  Father;  and  those  who  were  pre- 
sented prostrated  themselves  before  him,  kissed  his  foot, 
and  then  returned  to  their  places.  When  it  came  to  my 
turn,  the  Grand  Duke  turned  to  the  Pope  and  said — 

"  Here,  Blessed  Father,  is  the  artist  who  made  the 
"  Cain "  and  "  Abel "  that  your  Holiness  seemed  well 
satisfied  with." 

And  the  Holy  Father,  turning  to  me,  answered — 

"  I  congratulate  you.  They  are  two  most  beautiful 
statues.  You  have  nothing  to  envy  in  the  Berlin  or 
Munich  casting." 

"  Most  Blessed  Father,"  I  hastened  to  reply,  "  I  am 
not  the  caster  of  those  statues,  but 

"  Go,"  continued  the  Holy  Father — "  go,  and  may  God 
bless  you ; "  and  making  one  of  those  great  crosses  in 
the  air  that  Pius  IX.  knew  so  well  how  to  make,  he  sent 
me  away  in  peace,  in  the  midst  of  the  silent  but  visible 
hilarity  of  all  those  who  had  witnessed  my  embarrass- 
ment. It  is  more  than  probable  that  the  Grand  Duke 
rectified  the  mistake  incurred  by  his  Holiness ;  and  I 
should  regret  if  I  had  remained  in  his  mind  as  the  caster, 
when  that  merit  belonged  personally  and  legitimately  to 
Professor  Clemente  Papi.  But  if  it  is  easy  to  imagine 
that  that  mistake  was  then  cleared  up,  it  is  difficult  to 
say  the  same  of  the  one  at  the  present  day,  because  it 
is  harder  to  rectify.  I  heed  very  little  the  censure  of 
certain  extreme  Catholics,  believing  that  I  share  it  with 
many  whom  I  should  wish  to  resemble  in  every  respect : 
but  the  censure  of  the  Pope  was  indeed  painful  to  me ; 
and  I  managed  in  such  a  way,  by  showing  myself  just  as 
I  am,  that  I  obtained  his  goodwill.  But  of  this,  as  I 
have  already  said,  I  will  speak  further  on,  and  now  I 
return  to  my  works. 


PORTRAIT   OF   MARSHAL   HAYNAU.  339 

The  reader  may  have  observed  that  I  have  made  no 
mention  of  portraits,  although  I  have  made  many.  As, 
however,  amongst  these  portraits  there  is  one  that  made 
some  noise,  and  as  the  things  that  were  said,  being 
magnified  by  passion  and  by  the  inexact  information  of 
the  person  who  spread  these  reports,  might  lead  those 
who  are  in  the  dark  to  form  a  wrong  impression,  I  have 
thought  best  to  narrate  the  facts  as  they  were. 

One  day  a  gentleman  asked  to  speak  to  me.  He  was 
a  man  of  about  sixty,  tall,  thin,  with  deep-set,  change- 
able, and  vivacious  eyes,  thick-marked  eyebrows,  long 
moustaches,  lofty  bearing,  and  with  such  a  singular  and 
expressive  face,  that  when  an  artist  sees  it,  he  is  at  once 
possessed  with  a  desire  to  make  it  a  study.  This  gentle- 
man said — 

"  Would  you  make  my  portrait?  " 

I  answered,  "  Yes." 

"  How  many  sittings  do  you  require  to  make  the 
model?" 

"  Six  or  eight,  or  more,  according  to  the  length  of  the 
sittings." 

"  When  could  you  begin  ?  " 

"  The  first  days  of  next  week." 

"  Very  well :  Monday  I  will  be  with  you.  At  what 
hour?" 

"  At  nine  in  the  morning,  if  not  inconvenient  to  you." 

"  Good-bye,  then,  until  Monday.  Do  you  know  who 
lam?" 

"  I  have  not  the  honour." 

"  I  am  Marshal  Haynau."     And  he  went  away. 

Now,  to  say  that,  after  having  heard  the  name,  I  had 
pleasure  in  making  his  portrait,  would  be  a  falsehood ; 
and  yet  the  singularity  of  that  face,  the  curiosity  I  had  to 
become  acquainted  through  conversation  with  a  man  of 


340  ANECDOTE   OF   HAYNAU. 

such  haughtiness  and  fierceness  of  character,  the  engage- 
ment I  had  entered  into,  and  my  pledged  word,  all  took 
from  me  the  courage  to  renounce  the  work.  It  is  useless 
to  say  how  all  my  friends,  and  naturally  even  more,  those 
who  were  no  friends  of  mine,  declaimed  against  me. 
The  newspapers  were  full  of  attacks,  the  story  of  the 
brewery  in  London,  with  all  its  details,  was  told,  magni- 
fied and  praised ;  in  fact,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  was  in  the 
days  when  I  was  taking  his  portrait,  and  then  alone,  that 
I  was  made  acquainted  with  the  fierce  nature  of  this 
great  person,  as  my  only  idea  of  him  until  then  had  been 
a  very  indistinct  and  sketchy  one.  The  beauty  of  it 
is,  that  in  the  conversation  he  held  with  me  he  showed 
himself  a  quiet  man,  opposed  to  all  cruelty,  although  a 
severe  military  disciplinarian,  and  inexorable  in  punish- 
ing refractory  soldiers.  He  made  no  mystery  of  this,  and 
he  named  to  me  the  Hungarian  generals  and  officers 
that  he  had  had  shot,  as  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  ;  and  because  I  blamed  him  for  this,  he  answered  : 
With  rebels  one  could  not  do  otherwise,  and  that  he 
would  have  become  guilty  himself  had  he  not  punished 
them.  But  I,  who  had  read  of  his  cruelty  to  women, 
children  —  to  all,  in  fact  —  censured  him  for  this,  and 
he  denied  it  in  a  most  decided  manner,  adding  a  story 
which,  if  true,  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  Here  is  the 
anecdote  :  When  he  had  gained  the  victory  at  Pesth, 
and  had  all  the  heads  of  the  revolution  in  his  hands, 
they  were  all  condemned  to  death  by  a  council  of  war. 
Amongst  these  were  the  Archbishop  of  Pesth  and  a 
Count  Karoli.  He  had  the  alter  ego  in  his  hands,  and 
in  consequence  his  orders  had  no  need  of  the  Imperial 
sanction ;  but  both  the  Archbishop  and  Count  Karoli 
had  powerful  friends  and  adherents  at  Vienna,  and  these 
did  so  much,  and  exerted  themselves  to  such  a  degree, 


PORTRAIT   OF   HAYNAU.  34! 

that,  an  hour  before  the  execution  of  the  sentence,  the 
Imperial  reprieve  arrived.  As  he,  however,  thought  both 
of  these  men  more  guilty  than  the  others,  owing  to  their 
high  position,  and  as  it  seemed  to  him  unjust  that  they 
should  be  saved  and  the  others  sacrificed,  he  called 
them  all  into  his  presence,  and  after  having  informed  the 
two  fortunate  ones  of  the  Imperial  pardon,  he  added 
these  words :  "  It  is  my  conviction,  in  virtue  of  the  proofs 
which  I  have  in  my  hands,  and  which  have  been  examined 
by  the  council  of  war,  that  the  Archbishop  and  Count 
Karoli  are  the  most  guilty  of  any  of  you;  but  as  our 
most  gracious  sovereign  has  saved  them  from  the  penalty 
that  they  deserved,  it  is  not  just  that  those  who  are  less 
guilty  should  suffer  from  it ;  therefore,  availing  myself  of 
the  power  I  have  of  alter  ego,  I  spare  the  life  of  all."  I 
can  attest  the  truth  of  this  story,  not  only  in  its  general 
sense,  but  even  to  its  wording.  The  truth  of  the  story,  I 
say,  for  as  to  the  facts  I  know  nothing.  And  I  have 
made  a  note  of  it ;  for  if  by  chance  it  was  not  true,  to 
the  stain  of  cruelty  one  can  add  that  of  having  told  a  lie 
to  appear  merciful.  The  fact  was  that  he  discussed  all 
his  affairs  with  facile  prolixity.  He  spoke  of  art  and  the 
artists  that  he  had  known  at  Milan,  Venice,  and  Bologna, 
in  the  days  of  our  servitude  to  Austria,  and  through  all 
his  stories  there  was  always  something  or  other  of  the 
bombastic.  He  urged  me  to  make  his  statue,  but  I 
decidedly  refused  to  do  so.  He  spoke  to  me  about  it 
several  times,  and  at  last  I  was  obliged  to  speak  openly 
to  him,  and  he  thought  my  reasons  just  ones.  Then  he 
manifested  to  me  his  wish  to  have  his  portrait  painted  on 
horseback,  and  asked  me  if  I  knew  a  clever  artist  with  a 
name  that  would  undertake  the  work.  This  question 
embarrassed  me,  being  myself  already  compromised.  I 
took  some  time  to  think  about  it,  and  fate  was  propi- 


342         BEZZUOLI'S   DEFENCE   OF   MY  BUST. 

tious,  and  gave  me  a  companion  with  whom  to  bear  the 
censure  and  abuse  that  only  too  certainly  rained  down 
upon  us. 

Early  the  next  morning  Professor  Bezzuoli  came  to 
my  studio,  and  said — "  Let  me  see  the  portrait  of  Mar- 
shal Haynau." 

"  Certainly ;  here  it  is." 

"  Do  you  know,"  says  Bezzuoli  to  me,  "  that  yesterday 
I  had  to  take  up  your  defence?  There  were  certain 
chatterboxes,  that  don't  know  even  how  to  draw  an  eye, 
who,  talking  of  you  on  account  of  the  portrait  you  are 
making,  said  you  ought  never  to  have  accepted  it,  and 
that  they  could  never  have  abased  themselves  to  do  so. 
I  answered  that  an  artist  when  he  makes  a  portrait  is 
not  occupied  with  politics.  If  the  person  whose  por- 
trait is  taken  is  a  scamp,  he  will  always  be  a  scamp, 
with  or  without  his  portrait,  precisely  like  Nero,  Tiberius, 
or  other  such  beasts,  of  whom  such  beautiful  portraits 
have  been  taken,  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  them;  but  it 
never  comes  into  the  mind  of  anybody  for  an  instant  to 
say,  Look  what  a  canaille  the  artist  must  have  been  who 
made  this  portrait !  So  true  does  this  seem  to  me,  that 
if  Haynau  had  come  to  me  and  given  me  an  order  to 
paint  his  portrait,  I  would  have  accepted  his  commission 
most  willingly." 

"  Ah,  very  well ! "  thought  I  to  myself,  "  I  shall  no 
longer  be  alone ; "  then  I  said  to  Bezzuoli, — "  Thank  you 
for  the  part  you  have  taken  in  my  defence.  I  still  think 
if  my  colleagues  only  had  an  idea  how  I  have  been 
taken  by  surprise  when  I  engaged  to  do  this  work,  and 
how  the  originality  of  the  head  excited  a  desire  in  me, 
and  if  they  felt  how  imperious  the  impulse  born  of  that 
little  capricious  demon  Art  is — they  would,  I  think,  be 
more  indulgent  with  me;  and  not  only  indulgent,  but 


BEZZUOLI   PAINTS   HAYNAU'S   PORTRAIT.      343 

they  would  even  praise  me  when  they  knew  that  I  had 
refused  to  make  a  statue  of  Haynau  for  himself.  And 
apropos  of  this  statue,  which  I  shall  not  make,  I  will  tell 
you  about  it  presently ;  but  first  permit  me  to  ask  a  ques- 
tion. I  understood  you  to  say  that  if  this  gentleman 
had  gone  to  you  and  asked  you  to  paint  his  portrait, 
you  would  have  accepted  the  commission — did  I  under- 
stand right  ?  " 

"  You  understood  perfectly." 

"  I  then  add  that  he  will  come.  He  wants  a  full- 
sized  portrait  of  himself  on  horseback.  A  large  picture, 
an  attack  in  battle,  or  something  of  that  kind;  and  later, 
after  mid-day,  he  will  go  to  you  for  this  purpose.  Should 
you  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much ;  but  how  can  you  speak 
to  me  with  so  much  assurance  about  this  ?  " 

Then  I  told  him  what  the  reader  already  knows. 
That  morning  the  Marshal  went  with  a  note  from  me 
to  Professor  Bezzuoli.  In  a  few  words  all  was  arranged ; 
the  picture  was  finished  in  a  short  time,  and  had  a  great 
deal  of  deserved  praise  as  far  as  work  went,  and  bitter 
censure  for  the  rest,  which  he  divided  and  bore  in  com- 
pany with  me — with  less  resignation,  however,  than  could 
have  been  desired  from  so  old  an  artist  who  had  thought 
over  and  discussed  the  importance  of  the  engagement 
he  had  taken.  This  was  the  character  of  Bezzuoli,  who 
preserved  even  as  an  old  man  all  the  vivacity  and  impet- 
uosity of  open,  gay-hearted  youth;  but  at  the  same  time, 
he  was  mistrustful  and  touchy  in  the  extreme.  When  I  re- 
member him,  full  of  vivacity  and  bonhomie,  the  friend  of 
young  men,  with  his  frank,  open-hearted,  sincere  advice, 
and  at  the  same  time  full  of  sensitiveness  about  the 
merest  nothings,  and  with  childish  and  ridiculous  am- 
bitions, such  as  not  to  be  willing  to  be  beaten  at  billiards, 


344  BEZZUOLI'S   CHARACTER. 

it  makes  me  smile  to  think  of  the  weakness  of  our  poor 
human  nature.  He  liked  to  invite  a  certain  number  of 
friends  every  Sunday  to  his  villa  near  Fiesole,  and  after 
dinner  to  play  at  billiards.  He  who  was  unfortunate 
enough  to  beat  Bezzuoli,  was  sure  to  find  him  cold  and 
set  against  him  for  some  time;  and  those  who  knew 
this,  either  for  pastime  and  amusement,  or  for  fear  and 
interestedness,  bravely  lost,  and  the  poor  professor  was 
full  of  joy,  more  even  than  if  he  had  found  some  new 
striking  effect  in  art. 

Here  ends  the  anecdote  *of  that  famous  portrait. 
Further  on  I  will  speak  of  others  that  I  had  the  order 
for  and  could  not  make,  and  why  I  could  not  make 
them. 


345 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


ONE  OF  MY  COLLEAGUES — A  MYSTERIOUS  VOICE — THE  GROUP  OF  THE  "  PIETA  " 
—  VERY  CLEAR  LATIN  —  A  PROFESSOR  WHO  IGNORES  THE  '  DIVINA  COM- 
MEDIA' — COMPOSITION  OF  THE  GROUP  OF  THE  "PIETA" — DIGRESSION — A 
GOOD  LESSON  AND  NERVOUS  ATTACK — MANCINELLI  AND  CELENTANO. 


UT  if  some  of  my  very  dear  colleagues  set 
themselves  against  me  on  account  of  the 
great  Haynau  portrait,  not  knowing  that  I 
had  refused  to  make  his  statue,  others  were 
alienated  from  me,  I  do  not  know  for  what  reason.  I 
will  speak  of  one  of  them,  to  show  how  a  most  respect- 
able artist  and  colleague  of  mine,  having  been  led  into 
error,  chose  strenuously  to  abide  by  it,  and  thus  broke 
up  a  relation  that  one  might  call  friendship  ;  for  esteem 
is  the  first  bond  that  draws  one  together  and  creates 
love,  and  I  esteemed  this  colleague  of  mine,  and  pitied 
him  for  the  error  into  which  he  had  fallen. 

When  Augusto  Rivalta  came  from  the  school  at  Genoa 
(his  birthplace)  to  complete  his  studies  in  sculpture  in 
Florence,  his  masters,  and  he  himself,  had  great  faith  in 
my  school,  and  I  was,  with  him  as  with  all  my  scholars, 
an  open  and  free  expounder  of  those  principles  that 
I  believe  to  be  good,  and  to  lead  directly  towards  the 
beautiful,  under  the  guidance  of  truth.  Rivalta  was  al- 
ways confiding  and  studious  with  me ;  and  as  by  nature 


346      HOW   TO   PRESERVE   ONE'S   ORIGINALITY. 

he  is  endowed  with  no  common  genius,  he  is  to-day  a 
professor  and  active  master  at  our  Academy  of  Fine 
Arts.  Now  it  happened  one  day,  during  the  early  days 
that  he  was  under  my  direction,  that  I  saw  hanging  on 
his  studio  walls  a  bas-relief  of  a  Madonna  by  that  above- 
mentioned  colleague  of  mine,  and  the  head  of  Barto- 
lini's  "  Fiducia  in  Dio."  I  thought  it  wise  to  warn  my 
pupil  of  the  error  into  which  too  often  even  tried  artists 
have  fallen,  which  is  that  of  looking  at  and  reproducing  in 
their  own  works  reminiscences  of  such  originals  hanging 
in  their  studios  to  attract  poor  artists.  Therefore  that 
morning  my  lesson  consisted  of  the  following  words  : — 

"When  the  idea  comes  to  you  to  make  a  statue,  it 
forms  itself  naturally  in  your  mind,  and  takes  a  move- 
ment and  character  all  its  own,  be  it  ever  so  undecided 
and  vague,  as  an  idea  always  is,  until  it  has  been  fixed 
materially  into  shape ;  but  the  idea  is  there  (for  him  who 
has  it),  and  is  original.  Then  begins  attentive  study, 
and  sometimes  a  long  research  to  be  able  to  find  a  live 
model  who  approaches  nearest  the  idea  that  you  have 
formed  to  yourself,  and  that  you  have  already  in  your 
mind  in  embryo,  or  have  indicated  in  your  sketch.  From 
the  moment,  however,  that  you  have  found  the  model  or 
models,  you  must  remain  alone  with  them  and  your  idea ; 
no  extraneous  images  must  come  between  you  and  your 
work.  I  am  afraid  that  those  casts  there  facing  me, 
will  in  some  way  take  from  the  originality  of  the  charac- 
ter and  expression  that  you  wish  to  give  to  your  statue, 
and  you  will  do  well  not  to  look  at  them.  Let  us  under- 
stand, however,  that  I  say  not  to  look  at  them  whilst 
you  are  at  work  on  your  statue :  afterwards  you  may 
look  at  them  and  study  them  as  much  as  you  wish." 

Rivalta  assured  me  that  he  did  not  look  at  them,  for 
he  understood  very  well,  that  instead  of  being  of  help  to 


HOW  A   FRIENDSHIP   WAS   BROKEN    UP.      347 

him  they  would  have  confused  him,  and  that  he  found 
himself  more  free  and  unhampered  when  trusting  him- 
self only  to  working  from  the  live  model.  Having  estab- 
lished this  most  essential  point  in  art,  I  left  him,  well 
pleased  with  both  myself  and  him.  But  in  the  mean- 
time, this  obvious,  clear,  and  easy  lesson  of  mine  created 
at  first  an  angry  feeling,  and  afterwards  a  rupture,  be- 
tween me  and  my  colleague,  the  author  of  the  bas-relief; 
and  this  happened  because  a  youth  in  Rivalta's  studio 
reported  that  I  had  said  to  my  scholar,  "  Do  not  look  at 
those  casts,  for  they  are  rubbish."  I  heard  this  from 
Professor  de  Fabris,  to  whom  our  friend  made  a  clean 
breast  of  it.  It  was  not  enough  for  him  that  this  friend 
of  ours  took  up  my  defence,  saying  that  he  knew  me 
thoroughly  well,  and  that  I  was  incapable  of  saying  such 
things,  adding,  that  he  ought  himself  to  know  well  enough 
that  I  was  averse  to  giving  offence  to  any  one,  and  so 
might  feel  sure  there  was  some  misunderstanding.  But 
all  this  was  useless,  so  that  our  friend  De  Fabris,  for  the 
sake  of  peace,  thought  best  to  speak  to  me  of  it.  It 
can  be  imagined  how  astonished  and  how  pained  I  was. 
I  at  once  told  him  how  the  matter  really  stood,  and 
begged  that  he  would  assure  the  professor  of  my  affec- 
tion and  esteem  for  him  as  a  friend  and  as  an  artist. 
It  was  all  in  vain,  and  he  insisted  in  believing  in  a  boy 
who  had  listened  badly  and  reported  still  worse,  rather 
than  in  me,  or  even  Rivalta's  testimony  that  I  offered  to 
bring  forward. 

I  should  not  have  mentioned  this  small  matter  had  it 
not  been  to  explain  the  sort  of  sensitiveness  and  obsti- 
nacy that  one  observes  generally  in  the  artist  class,  and 
most  specially  amongst  us  sculptors,  although,  to  speak 
the  truth,  those  defects  showed  themselves  oftener,  and 
to  a  greater  degree,  amongst  artists  of  the  past,  or 


348  JEALOUSIES  OF  ARTISTS. 

who  are  now  old.  The  young  men  of  to-day  are  more 
frank,  more  tolerant,  and  more  friendly  amongst  each 
other,  and  sometimes  they  even  go  to  the  excess  of  these 
virtues  by  being  frank  even  unto  insolence,  tolerant 
even  to  scepticism,  and  careless,  thoughtless,  frivolous, 
and  even  worse,  in  their  friendship.  Who  ignores  the 
little  bursts  of  temper  and  cutting  words  bandied  be- 
tween Pampaloni  and  Bartolini,  between  Benvenuti  and 
Sabatelli,  and  between  Bezzuoli  and  Gazzarrini  ?  I  shall 
not  write  a  record  of  them,  out  of  respect  for  their  names, 
and  for  Death,  who,  under  his  broad  mantle,  has  en- 
shrouded them  in  solemn  silence.  Sleep  in  peace,  pil- 
grim souls, — within  a  short  time  even  we  shall  join  you ; 
and  when  we  are  awakened  at  the  dies  ires,  we  shall  smile 
at  our  little  outbursts  of  temper  in  this  most  foolish  life, 
and  become  for  ever  really  brothers.  We  shall  be  happy 
if  we  have  nothing  besides  the  remembrance  of  these  little 
sins,  already  forgiven  us  by  God,  if  we  have  forgiven 
others !  If  by  chance  there  be  any  one  who  thinks  that 
I  have  offended  him  by  excess  of  vivacity  of  tempera- 
ment or  otherwise,  even  though  it  be  involuntary,  as 
might  happen  easily,  I  beg  his  pardon. 

This  little  war  of  words,  sarcasms,  and  what  is  worse, 
reticences,  I  have  always  deplored ;  and  to  succeed  in 
being  less  tiresome  to  my  colleagues,  and  for  want  of 
occasion  to  induce  them  to  temperance,  I  have  always 
kept  myself  aloof,  and  have  spoken  of  them  as  I  could 
wish  them  to  speak  of  me.  To  be  just,  however,  I 
must  declare  that  I  have  seldom  been  (openly,  I  mean) 
exposed  to  the  sting  of  their  words ;  and  if,  as  it  hap- 
pened, I  was  once  attacked  with  certain  insistence  in 
the  newspapers  on  the  occasion  when  my  three  scholars, 
Pazzi,  Sarrocchi,  and  Majoli,  exhibited  their  works  in 
the  Academy,  my  friend  Luigi  Mussini,  who  handles  the 


BARTOLINI.  349 

pen  in  the  same  masterly  way  as  he  does  the  brush, 
reduced  to  silence  with  one  single  article  the  poor 
writer  who  had  been  put  up  to  say  evil  of  the  works  of 
my  scholars  in  order  to  do  injury  to  the  master.  These 
injurious  words  have  been  forgotten  and  amply  pardoned, 
but  the  beautiful  and  generous  defence  of  my  friend 
I  have  never  forgotten.  I  repeat,  however,  that  these 
little  annoyances  are  much  less  nowadays  than  they  were, 
or  at  least  they  have  changed  form.  To-day,  instead  of 
suggesting  in  undertones  and  mellifluous  words  the  de- 
fects of  a  work  to  some  poor  writer,  adding  many  that 
do  not  exist,  and  being  silent  as  to  its  merits,  it  is  rather 
the  custom  to  come  out  frankly  and  openly  before  your 
face  with  a  criticism  which,  if  it  has  not  the  merit  of 
temperance,  does  at  least  not  bear  that  ugly  stain  of 
hypocrisy  as  a  mask  to  truth.  To  this  school,  although 
he  be  numbered  amongst  the  old  and  the  dead,  Barto- 
lini  did  not  belong ;  and  although  one  of  the  elect  in 
spirit  and  strength,  yet  he  sometimes  allowed  himself 
to  give  way  to  passion.  While  he  was  a  young  man 
in  Paris,  Canova  was  there  making  the  portrait  of  the 
Emperor  Napoleon  I.  Bartolini  demanded  and  ob- 
tained help  from  that  great  and  beneficent  artist;  but 
being  asked  if  he  would  return  with  him  to  his  studio 
in  Rome,  he  refused :  but  to  say,  as  he  did  openly  to 
me  and  to  others,  that  Canova  wished  to  take  him  with 
him  to  put  an  end  to  his  studies,  was  not  in  conformity 
with  the  truth,  or  with  Canova's  well-known  and  benev- 
olent character.  To  the  sculptor  Wolf,  who  one  day 
brought  him  a  note  from  Rauch,  he  said,  without  even 
opening  it — 

"How  is  Rauch?" 

"  He  is  very  well,  and  sends  you  his  greetings,  as  you 
will  see  from  the  letter  I  have  given  you." 


350  I   CHANGE   MY   STUDIO. 

"Rauch,"  began  Bartolini,  .  .  .  but  I  have  said 
above  that  the  dead  sleep  in  peace,  and  the  portraits  of 
Bartolini  and  Rauch  are  also  at  peace  with  each  other, 
for  in  my  house,  at  the  villa  of  Lampeggi,  they  look 
each  other  in  the  face,  and  smile  good-naturedly. 
Evviva  !  So,  perhaps,  they  smile  in  the  true  life  eternal 
at  the  littlenesses  of  our  brief  life  here. 

It  was  at  this  time  (1860)  that  I  was  obliged  to  leave 
my  studio  in  the  Liceo  di  Candeli,  and  with  me  all 
the  other  artists  who  were  in  that  place  had  to  go,  as 
the  present  Government  decided  to  place  the  militia 
there.  This  change  made  me  feel  very  sad,  for  I  had 
an  affection  for  the  place.  I  had  improved  it  and 
enlarged  it,  renting  a  ground-floor  in  the  next  house, 
and  putting  it  into  communication  with  the  studio.  I 
had  embellished  the  court  with  plants,  fruit,  and  flowers. 
There  my  dear  little  girls  used  to  amuse  themselves  at 
play,  and  gathered  flowers  to  take  home  and  arrange  in 
a  little  vase  to  put  before  the  image  of  the  Madonna. 
One  of  them  is  no  longer  here,  Luisina,  of  whom  in  time 
I  will  speak;  but  the  other  two — Amalia,  who  is  with 
me,  and  Beppina,  who  is  married  to  Cavaliere  Antonio 
Ciardi — follow,  even  now,  that  pious  custom,  which 
others  may  make  fun  of,  but  which  I  love  so  much 
when  I  see  these  children  of  mine,  in  all  the  simplicity 
and  pureness  of  their  heart,  make  this  act  of  homage 
to  the  Virgin. 

My  good  Marina,  who  has  also  now  joined  our  daughter 
and  the  other  little  ones  and  the  boy  (seven  angels  in 
all) — my  good  Marina  tried  to  console  me  with  her  mild 
words.  In  her  speech  there  was  no  excitement  or  spe- 
ciousness,  but  a  persuasive  sweetness  and  serenity,  learnt 
from  duty  and  temperance.  She  had  had  no  education 
— was  a  poor  woman  of  the  people,  as  I  have  said  in  the 


A   MYSTERIOUS   VOICE.  351 

beginning;  but  I  never  felt  bored  by  her,  never  de- 
sired a  more  cultured  woman  to  teach  me  lessons.  It  is 
sweet  to  me  to  return  in  memory  to  the  time  that  I  lived 
with  my  good  companion ;  and  I  owe  her  so  much  !  I 
think  that,  if  fate  had  given  me  another  woman,  who  had 
not  had  the  patience  to  bear  my  crotchets  and  the  quick 
words  that  sometimes  escaped  me,  who  had  doubted  my 
faith,  who  had  bored  me  with  tittle-tattle,  with  sermons 
or  other  things,  I  think  (God  save  me !)  that  I  should 
have  been  a  bad  husband  and  a  worse  artist.  So  that, 
with  a  slight  variation,  I  can  repeat  the  words  of  the 
divine  poet : — 

"  E  la  mia  vita  e  tutto  il  mio  valore, 
Mosse  dagli  occhi  di  quella  pietosa. " J 

I  had  therefore  to  resign  myself  to  leaving  the  studio 
that  I  had  an  affection  for ;  and  the  one  I  have  now  at 
the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  was  assigned  to  me,  with  the 
charge  of  Maestro  di  Perfezionamento,  without  stipend,  but 
with  a  promise  of  compensations,  which  I  have  never 
had,  perhaps  because  I  have  never  asked  for  them. 

A  fact  that  I  ought  to  have  narrated  long  before  this 
— quite  domestic  and  intimate  in  its  wondrous  strange- 
ness— I  have  kept  silent  about,  owing  to  a  certain  senti- 
ment that  I  cannot  well  define ;  but  now,  in  recalling  my 
good  wife  and  my  dead  children,  I  feel  as  if  a  voice  within 
me  said,  "  Tell  it ! — write  the  fact  as  it  is,  without  taking 
anything  from  it  or  passing  judgment  on  it."  So  here 
it  is.  My  second  daughter,  Carolina,  was  put  out  to 
nurse.  She  was  the  only  one  that  the  good  mother  did 
not  bring  up  herself;  but,  from  motives  of  health,  she 
could  not  do  so.  The  wet-nurse  of  this  little  child  lived 
at  Londa,  above  the  Rufina.  The  baby  was  thriving, 

1  Vita  Nuova,  39. 


352  A   MYSTERIOUS   INCIDENT. 

when  all  of  a  sudden  a  very  bad  eruption  came  out  all 
over  her  and  her  life  was  in  danger.  The  nurse  wrote 
to  us  to  come  and  see  her.  Without  delay  I  hired  a 
calesse,1  and  left  with  my  wife :  the  grandmother  stayed 
behind  to  mind  the  little  eldest  one,  who  afterwards  died 
at  seven  years  of  age,  as  I  have  written  in  its  place. 
Arriving  at  Pontassieve,  we  bent  our  way  to  the  Rufina, 
and  from  there  continued  on  to  Londa ;  on  up  a  moun- 
tain, in  part  wooded  with  chestnut-trees,  in  part  bare  and 
stony,  until  we  arrived  at  the  small  cottage  of  the  nurse 
of  my  little  one.  The  road  circles  around  the  hill,  and 
in  several  places  is  very  narrow,  so  much  so  that  a  calesse 
has  great  difficulty  in  passing, — as  is  most  natural,  for 
what  has  a  calesse  to  do  up  on  that  hill  and  amongst 
those  hovels  ?  But  we  arrived,  as  God  willed  it.  The 
baby  was  very  ill,  and  there  was  now  no  hope  that  she 
could  recover.  We  remained  there  a  night  and  a  day; 
and  having  given  all  the  orders  in  case  of  the  now  certain 
death  of  the  little  angel,  I  took  the  mother,  who  could 
not  tear  herself  from  the  place,  away  crying.  As  I  have 
said,  the  road  was  narrow ;  and  in  our  descent,  the  hill 
rose  above  us  on  our  right,  and  on  the  left  we  were  on 
the  edge  of  a  very  deep  torrent :  I  don't  know  whether 
it  was  the  Rincine,  Moscia,  or  some  other.  The  horse 
went  at  a  gentle  trot  on  account  of  the  easy  descent,  and 
we  felt  perfectly  safe,  as  I  had  put  the  drag  on  the  wheel. 
My  wife,  with  her  eyes  bathed  in  tears,  was  repeating 
some  words,  I  know  not  what,  dictated  by  a  hope  that 
the  child  would  recover.  The  sky  was  clear,  and  the 
sun  had  only  just  risen, — we  saw  no  one  on  the  hill, 
nor  anywhere  else, — when  suddenly  a  voice  was  heard 
to  say  "Stop/"  (Fermate /)  The  voice  seemed  as  if 
it  came  from  the  hillside.  My  wife  and  I  turned  in 
1  Old-fashioned  one-horse  carriage. 


A   MYSTERIOUS   INCIDENT.  353 

that  direction,  and  I  half  stopped  the  horse;  but  we 
saw  no  one.  I  touched  up  the  horse  again  to  push  on, 
and  at  the  same  instant  the  voice  made  itself  heard  a 
second  time,  and  still  louder,  saying,  "  Stop  !  stop  f"  I 
pulled  in  the  reins,  and  this  time  my  wife,  after  having 
looked  all  around  with  me  without  seeing  a  living  soul, 
was  frightened. 

"  Come,  have  courage,"  said  I ;  "what  are  you  afraid 
of?  See,  there  is  no  one ;  and  so  no  one  can  do  us  any 
harm."  And,  to  put  an  end  to  the  kind  of  fear  even  I 
felt,  I  gave  my  horse  a  good  smack  of  the  whip ;  but 
hardly  had  he  started  when  we  heard  most  distinctly,  and 
still  louder,  the  same  voice  calling  out,  three  times, 
"  Stop  !  stop  !  stop  !  "  I  stopped,  and  without  knowing 
what  to  do  or  think,  I  got  out,  and  helped  my  wife  out, 
who  was  all  trembling ;  and  what  was  our  surprise,  our 
alarm,  and  our  gratitude  for  the  warning  that  had  been 
given  us  to  stop !  The  linch-pin  had  come  out  of  the 
left  wheel,  which  was  all  bent  over  and  about  to  fall  off 
its  axle-tree,  and  this  almost  at  the  very  edge  of  the  pre- 
cipice. With  all  my  strength  I  propped  up  the  trap  on 
that  side,  pushed  the  wheel  back  into  its  place,  and  ran 
back  to  see  if  I  could  find  the  linch-pin,  but  I  could  not 
find  it.  I  called  again  and  again  for  the  person  who  had 
come  to  my  help  with  timely  warning,  to  thank  him, 
but  I  saw  no  one  !  In  the  meanwhile,  it  was  impossible 
to  go  on  in  that  condition.  The  little  town  of  La 
Rufina  was  at  some  distance,  and  although  we  could 
walk  to  it  on  foot,  how  could  the  calesse  be  taken 
there  with  a  wheel  without  a  linch-pin  ?  I  set  myself 
to  hunt  about  on  the  hill  for  a  little  stick  of  wood,  and 
having  found  it,  I  sharpened  it,  and  with  the  aid  of  a 
stone,  fastened  it  in  the  hole  in  place  of  the  linch-pin. 
But  as  for  getting  back  into  the  calesse,  that  was  not  to 

z 


354  I   MAKE  A   "PIETA." 

be  thought  of;  so  leading  the  horse  by  hand,  we  slowly 
descended  to  Rufina,  neither  my  wife  nor  myself  speak- 
ing a  word,  but  every  now  and  again  our  looks  bespoke 
the  danger  we  had  run  and  the  wonderful  warning  we 
had  had.  At  the  Rufina  I  got  a  cartwright  to  put  in 
another  linch-pin,  and  we  returned  safely  home.  If  the 
reader  laughs,  let  him  do  so;  I  do  not.  In  fact,  the 
seriousness  and  truth  of  this  occurrence,  which  happened 
about  forty  years  ago,  filled  me  then,  as  it  does  now, 
with  a  feeling  of  wonder  and  surprise. 

In  the  first  part  of  the  year  1862,  Marchese  Bichi-Rus- 
poli  of  Siena  gave  me  the  order  for  a  monument  to  be 
placed  in  the  cemetery  of  the  Misericordia  in  that  city, 
where  he  had  bought  a  mortuary  chapel  for  himself  and 
family.  He  left  me  free  in  the  choice  of  the  subject,  and 
I  decided  on  a  "Pieta,"  a  subject  that  has  been  frequently 
treated  by  many  artists  at  different  times,  as  lending  itself 
to  the  expression  of  the  most  unspeakable  sorrow,  even  if 
looked  upon  from  a  purely  human  point  of  view ;  and  if 
one  adds  thought  and  religious  sentiment,  then  its  interest 
gains  tenfold,  as  it  contains  in  itself,  besides  the  beauty 
of  form  in  the  nude  figure,  and  the  touching  sorrow  of 
the  mother,  the  mystery  of  the  incarnation,  of  the  death 
and  of  the  resurrection  of  our  Saviour.  The  subject, 
therefore,  was  highly  artistic,  exquisitely  touching,  and 
particularly  well  adapted  to  a  Christian  sepulchre.  But 
with  all  these  admirable  qualities,  the  rendering  of  the 
subject  was  extremely  difficult,  because  so  many  great 
artists  of  every  epoch  had  done  all  they  could,  in  paint- 
ing as  well  as  in  sculpture,  to  express  this  sublime  idea. 
Wishing  to  keep  myself  from  doing  what  others  had  done 
before  me,  I  thought  a  long  time  on  this  difficult  theme ; 
but  cudgel  my  brains  as  much  as  I  would,  my  conceits 
always  bore  the  impress  of  one  or  other  of  those  many 


I  ABANDON   THE  SKETCH.  355 

groups  that  one  sees  everywhere.  As  the  gentleman  who 
had  given  me  the  commission  pressed  me — in  a  polite 
way,  it  is  true,  but  with  some  insistence — to  let  him  see 
at  least  the  sketch,  I  set  to  work  with  much  ardour,  but 
with  little  hope  of  succeeding.  After  a  great  deal  of 
study,  I  made  a  small  sketch,  with  which  the  gentleman 
pronounced  himself  content,  and  ordered  me  to  set  to 
work  on  it  as  soon  as  possible.  When  the  stand  was 
ready,  the  irons  put  up,  the  clay  prepared,  and  the 
models  had  been  found,  one  of  my  friends,  who  had 
come  to  look  in  on  me,  exclaimed  on  seeing  the  sketch — 

"  Oh,  what  a  fine  sketch !  It  is  Michael  Angelo's 
<  Pieta.' " 

"What? "said  I. 

"  Oh,  I  see  I  have  made  a  mistake,"  said  my  friend; 
"  it  is  quite  a  different  thing." 

But  none  the  less,  this  was  the  impression  he  had 
received  and  proclaimed,  and,  if  not  absolutely  correct, 
was  yet  a  sincere,  true,  spontaneous,  and  disinterested 
one ;  for  my  friend,  although  far  from  being  an  artist,  or 
even  a  dilettante,  was  very  intelligent,  and  a  lover  of  art. 
So  from  that  moment  my  mind  was  made  up,  and  I  said 
to  myself — "Either  I  will  find  some  new  idea,  even  though 
it  be  a  less  beautiful  one,  or  I  will  abandon  the  commis- 
sion." I  put  by  all  the  things  that  had  been  prepared, 
went  to  work  on  other  work,  and  thought  no  more  of  it. 
I  ought  rather  to  say  that  I  thought  of  it  constantly, 
perhaps  even  too  much;  for  it  was  an  irritated,  futile 
kind  of  thinking,  that  did  harm,  giving  me  no  rest  even 
during  my  sleep,  and  not  leaving  my  mind  sufficiently 
free  or  my  inspirations  calm  enough  to  seize  hold  of  a 
new  idea  and  make  another  attempt. 

The  gentleman  who  had  given  me  the  commission 
still  pressed  me,  and  could  not  understand  why  I  had 


356  A   QUOTATION   FROM   DANTE. 

set  aside  the  work  after  having,  as  he  said,  so  well  con- 
ceived it,  and  after  it  had  met  with  his  own  approval.  To 
which  I  only  answered  these  words,  "  Have  patience  ! " 
And  so  he  had,  the  poor  Marchese,  for  I  must  do  him 
the  justice  to  say,  that  seeing  that  this  was  a  painful  sub- 
ject to  me,  he  never  spoke  to  me  any  more  about  it;  and 
only  when  affairs  called  him  sometimes  to  Florence, 
after  having  talked  to  me  about  many  other  things,  he 
would  say,  when  leaving  me,  with  his  usual  kind  and 
genial  manner,  "Good-bye,  Nannino,  memento  met/" 
This  blessed  Latin  in  its  brevity  worked  upon  me  more 
than  a  long  sermon  would  have  done ;  but  it  was  useless 
to  try  to  set  myself  to  make  another  sketch,  for  think 
about  it  as  much  as  I  would,  although  in  my  brain  there 
were  any  number  of  mediocre  groups  of  the  "Pieta," 
there  was  still  wanting  the  one  of  my  own  creation, 
for  the  others  belonged  to  me  as  some  cantos  of  the 
'  Divina  Commedia '  do  by  force  of  memory.  Apropos  of 
this,  here  is  a  curious  little  story.  It  happened  one  day 
when  I  was  speaking  with  a  man  excellent  in  every 
respect,  that,  being  to  the  point,  I  quoted  the  following 
well-known  verses : — 

"  O  voi  che  siete  in  piccioletta  barca, 
Desiderosi  d'  ascoltar,  seguiti 
Dietro  al  mio  legno  che  cantando  varca,"  &c. 

"  O  ye  who  in  some  pretty  little  boat, 
Eager  to  listen,  have  been  following 
Behind  my  ship,  that  singing  sails  along ;  " 1 

at  which  that  excellent  gentleman  showed  himself  sur- 
prised, and  asked  if  those  verses  were  mine.  I  looked 
at  him  attentively,  and  saw  in  his  face  that  he  was  per- 
fectly frank,  serious,  and  ingenuous ;  and  so  I  had  the 

1  Dante,  Paradise,  Canto  ii. 


I  DREAM  OF  THE  GROUP  OF  THE  "  PIETA."  357 

impudence  to  say  Yes.  I  regretted  it  afterwards,  and 
still  do  so.  That  gentleman  died  some  time  ago,  and 
I  should  not  have  told  this  joke  if  he  had  been  still 
living,  for  even  withholding  his  name,  he  might  have  re- 
cognised himself  and  taken  it  in  ill  part ;  but  for  all  this, 
I  repeat,  he  was  an  excellent  man,  stood  high  in  his  art, 
was  professor,  cavaliere,  and  commendatore  of  more  than 
one  order,  but  as  ignorant,  as  it  would  seem,  of  our 
classics  as  I  am  of  the  propositions  of  Euclid. 

The  reader,  therefore,  understands  perfectly  that  I  did 
not  want  to  make  my  "  Pieta  "  a  work  from  memory  or  of 
imitation,  and  give  out  with  a  bold  face  another  man's 
conception  for  my  own.  Therefore  paztenza,  —  and 
months  passed,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  no  longer 
thought  of  it;  but  one  fine  day,  when  I  was  at  home 
lying  on  the  sofa  reading  a  newspaper,  and  waiting  to  be 
called  to  dinner,  I  fell  asleep  (newspapers  have  always 
put  me  to  sleep,  especially  when  they  take  things  seri- 
ously),— I  fell  asleep,  and  I  dreamed  of  the  group  of  the 
"Pieta"  just  as  I  afterwards  made  it,  but  much  more  beau- 
tiful, more  expressive,  and  more  noble.  In  fact  it  was 
a  wonderful  vision,  but  only  like  a  flash — a  vision  only 
of  an  instant — for  an  impression  as  of  a  blow  awoke  me, 
and  I  found  myself  lying  over  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  with 
my  arms  hanging  loosely,  my  legs  stiffened  out  straight, 
and  my  head  bent  on  my  breast,  just  as  in  my  dream  I 
had  seen  Christ  on  the  Virgin's  knees.  I  jumped  up 
and  ran  to  my  studio  to  fix  the  idea  in  clay.  My  wife 
seeing  me  go  out  almost  running,  called  to  me  to  say 
that  the  soup  was  on  the  table. 

"  Have  patience,"  I  answered ;  "  I  have  forgotten 
something  at  the  studio ;  perhaps  I  shall  stop  there  a  bit. 
You  eat,  and  I  will  eat  afterwards." 

The  poor  woman,  I  could  see,  did  not  understand 


I   SKETCH   IT   AT  ONCE. 

what  was  the  matter,  all  the  more  because  I  had  been 
hurrying  them  to  send  up  the  dinner ;  but  she  made  no 
more  inquiries.  It  was  her  nature  not  to  enter  too  much 
into  the  affairs  of  my  studio.  In  two  hours  I  had  made 
the  sketch  of  that  subject  which  had  cost  me  so  much 
thought,  so  many  waking  hours,  and  loss  of  sleep,  and  I 
returned  home.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  was  more 
hungry,  tired,  or  contented.  My  wife,  to  whom  I  ex- 
plained the  reason  of  my  running  away,  smiled  and 
said,  "  You  might  have  waited  until  after  dinner ; "  and 
perhaps,  who  knows  that  she  was  not  right  ?  but  I  was  so 
astonished  and  out  of  myself  on  account  of  that  strange 
dream,  that  I  was  afraid  every  instant  to  lose  the  remem- 
brance of  it.  It  is  really  a  strange  thing,  that  after  hav- 
ing thought  of,  studied,  and  sketched  this  subject  for 
many  months,  when  I  was  least  thinking  of  it  (for  then 
I  was  certainly  not  thinking  of  it) — all  at  once,  when 
asleep,  I  should  see  so  clearly  stand  out  before  me, 
without  even  an  uncertain  line,  the  composition  of  that 
group.  I  have  often  thought  of  it,  and  being  obliged  in 
some  way  to  explain  it,  I  should  say  that  the  position  I 
took  when  asleep  might  have  acted  on  my  over-excited 
imagination,  always  fixed  on  that  same  idea. 

If  the  reader  has  followed  me  so  far,  he  may  truly  be 
called  courteous ;  but  who  knows  how  many  times  he 
has  looked  with  avidity  in  these  pages,  full  of  minute 
details  of  my  doings,  for  some  little  facts,  some  little 
escapades  which  really  define  and  give  the  impress  of 
the  moral  character  of  a  man,  and  not  having  found  it, 
has  closed  the  book  with  irritation,  and  has  muttered 
between  his  teeth,  "  This  man  is  really  very  stupid,  or  he 
imagines  us  to  be  such  simpletons  as  to  believe  that  his 
life  has  always  run  on  in  a  smooth,  pleasant  path,  where 
there  are  no  stones  to  stumble  over,  or  brambles  to  be 


DANGERS  OF  GOING  ASTRAY.  359 

caught  by  "  ?  I  will  not  judge  if  the  reader  be  right  or 
wrong  in  his  reasoning,  but  it  would  be  as  wrong  to 
think  that  my  life  had  been  perfectly  exempt  from  the 
little  wretchednesses  that  are  as  inherent  to  it  as  smoke 
to  a  fire,  especially  if  the  wood  be  green,  as  it  would  be 
to  require  for  his  own  satisfaction  that  I  should  ostenta- 
tiously insist  on  this  smoke  at  the  risk  of  offending  the 
tender  and  chaste  eyes  of  those  who,  albeit  not  ignoring 
these  things,  love  the  light  and  abhor  smoke.  Then,  also, 
in  speaking  of  these  little  wretchednesses,  one  always 
errs,  however  faithful  to  the  truth,  in  saying  either  too 
much  or  too  little ;  and  it  is  believed  to  be  either  ex- 
aggerated or  underrated,  according  to  the  simplicity  or 
malice  of  the  reader :  so  it  is  better  not  to  speak  of  them 
at  all.  These  little  details,  these  little  moral  wrinkles, 
ought  to  be  cast  aside,  as  they  do  not  add  an  atom  to 
the  likeness  of  the  person.  The  reader  can  imagine 
them,  or,  to  speak  plainer,  he  learns  them  from  the  voice 
of  common  report,  which  accompanies  through  life  the 
acts  of  any  man  not  absolutely  obscure.  But  if  in  life 
there  are  brambles  and  pebbles  that  can  momentarily 
molest  the  poor  pilgrim,  there  are  also  errors  and  devia- 
tions which  lead  us  astray.  Grave  misfortunes  such  as 
these,  by  God's  mercy,  I  have  not  met  with,  although 
the  danger  has  not  been  wanting.  The  least  thought  of 
the  gentle  nature  of  my  good  wife,  so  full  of  simplicity 
and  truth,  her  deep  and  serious  affection,  her  loving  care 
of  her  children,  and  her  total  abnegation  of  self  for  them 
and  for  me, — this  thought,  I  repeat,  was  enough,  with 
God's  help,  to  enable  me  to  escape  once  or  twice  from 
danger ;  and  I  wish  to  say  this,  that  the  reader  fond  of 
suchlike  particulars  need  not  tire  himself  with  looking 
for  them  here,  where  he  will  not  find  them. 

In  the  moral  character  of  a  man,  deviation  from  and 


360  ADVANTAGE   OF   DISSONANCE. 

forgetfulness  of  his  duties  is  an  ugly  stain,  even  uglier 
than  deformity  in  art.  In  fact,  deformity,  which  by 
itself  alone  is  contrary  to  art,  when  introduced  into  com- 
position, especially  when  historical  or  critical  reasons 
require  it,  can  be  of  use  as  a  contrast,  and  be — not 
beautiful  in  itself,  for  that  would  be  a  contradiction  of 
terms — but  of  use  to  the  ensemble,  and  to  the  beautiful, — 
as,  for  example,  the  dissonances  in  harmony  used  spar- 
ingly, if  they  suspend  momentarily  the  flow  of  that  broad 
sweet  wave,  they  make  one  hear  it  again  more  vividly, 
more  unexpectedly,  and  transformed  into  other  colour 
and  form.  If  all  this  concerns  and  is  of  use  to  Art,  which 
is  the  manifestation  of  the  beautiful,  it  does  not  apply 
to  morals,  which  are  the  manifestation  and  practice  of 
Good.  The  one  is  relative,  but  this  is  absolute.  The 
well-known  aphorism,  Truth  before  all  things,  lands 
one  nowhere ;  and  I  have  shown  that  in  being  silent 
on  some  matters,  one  need  not  be  false  to  her.  But 
she  is  only  cast  into  a  slight  shadow  by  these  veils  of 
decency  and  modesty ;  and  so  Truth  should  show  her 
matronly  bearing. 

I  have  spoken  somewhat  at  length  about  this,  because 
to  some  this  exposition  of  my  opinion  may  have  appeared 
unseemly.  Let  them  accept,  then,  with  a  kindly  feeling, 
the  reasons,  which  I  think  excellent  ones,  that  have  led 
me  to  this  wise  decision  of  representing  the  truth  to  each 
and  every  one's  eyes  in  the  most  appropriate  way,  so 
that,  while  it  attracts  by  the  largeness  and  uprightness 
of  its  form,  it  leaves  the  spirit  undisturbed  and  tranquil. 

I  set  to  work  on  the  model  of  the  "  Pieta  "  with  a  feel- 
ing of  assurance  devoid  of  any  of  those  outlooks  of  fal- 
lacious hope  that  so  often  preside  over  and  accompany 
a  work  badly  conceived  and  not  sufficiently  studied  or 
thought  out,  with  which  the  unsatisfied  mind  seeks  to 


BARTOLINI   AND   THE   "ASTYANAX."         361 

quiet  itself,  while  the  artist  goes  on  persuading  himself 
that  he  will  better  his  idea  as  his  work  goes  on,  instead 
of  which  he  finds  out  every  day  more  and  more  the  ex- 
istence of  those  difficulties  and  doubts  which  increase  in 
intensity  as  the  strength  to  overcome  them  diminishes. 
And  apropos  of  this,  I  remember  one  day  when  I  was 
making  an  excursion  from  Florence  to  Sant'  Andrea,  with 
Bartolini  (it  was  on  a  Saturday,  to  stay  over  until  Sunday 
evening  at  Villa  Fenzi),  as  we  travelled  along  Bartolini 
seemed  to  me  gayer  and  more  expansive  than  usual,  and 
having  asked  him  what  was  the  reason,  he  would  not  tell 
me,  but  answered,  "  You  will  know  why  at  Sant'  Andrea ; 
I  am  going  to  tell  at  dinner  when  every  one  is  present, 
for  it  is  a  thing  of  great  importance,  as  you  will  be  able 
to  judge  perhaps  better  than  any  one  else."  With  these 
words  he  so  roused  my  curiosity  that  it  made  that  very 
short  expedition  seem  a  long  one.  Arrived  at  the  Villa, 
Sor  Emanuele,  seeing  the  master  so  gay  and  almost 
beaming,  turned  to  him  and  jokingly  said  these  words, 
"  I'll  be  bound  you  have  found  a  new  and  beautiful 
little  model." 

"  No ;  and  even  those  I  have — and  they  are  beauties 
— I  sent  off  this  very  morning.  But  I  am  contented, 
because  I  had  a  thorn  in  my  side — a  thought  that  had 
been  tormenting  me  for  more  than  a  year.  There  was 
one  side  of  my  group — the  "  Astyanax  " — that  I  did  not 
like.  I  have  tried  various  ways  of  correcting  it,  but  in 
vain ;  for  the  evil  was  fundamental.  I  have  formed  a 
resolution,  and  ordered  my  work  to  be  pulled  to  pieces. 
I  have  sacrificed  more  than  a  year's  time,  but  I  am 
certain  that  I  shall  be  the  gainer,  because  the  work  will 
come  better  both  as  to  lines  and  the  quickness  of  exe- 
cution. I  feel  sure  that  the  change  is  a  good  one." 

Whoever  is  an  artist  understands  the  importance  of 


362  I   GET   ILL  AND   NERVOUS.       . 

such  an  act,  and  the  courage  of  a  man  who  destroys  a 
work  that  has  cost  him  more  than  a  year's  labour,  and 
admonishes  those  who  are  too  quick  in  putting  an  un- 
digested thought  into  execution. 

As  for  me,  I  felt  an  admiration  as  much  for  that 
heroic  resolution  as  for  his  gaiety  and  indifference, 
and  was  persuaded  that  only  men  of  such  a  tempera- 
ment know  how  to  act  and  comport  themselves  in  that 
fashion. 

I  set  to  work,  as  I  have  said,  on  the  group  of  the 
"  Pieta";  and  although  the  novelty  of  the  idea  and  har- 
mony of  lines  gave  me  every  reason  to  hope  for  success 
in  my  work,  yet  the  impetuosity  with  which  I  had  gone 
to  work,  the  difficulty  of  giving  the  expression  to  the 
Virgin's  face  in  contrast  with  the  divine  stillness  of  the 
dead  Jesus,  impossible  to  find  in  models — for  the  most 
part  the  negation  of  all  that  is  sublime  in  expression, — 
all  this  acted  so  upon  my  poor  brain  that  I  began  to 
hear  noises,  which  gradually  increased  to  such  an  inten- 
sity that  they  deafened  me,  and  I  had  to  stop  working, 
not  being  able  to  go  on.  The  thought  of  my  weakness 
worked  upon  me  so  violently  that  it  produced  melan- 
choly, insomnia,  and  aversion  to  food.  My  good  friend 
Dr  Alberti,  who  treated  me,  advised  rest  from  work  and 
distraction, — but  of  what  kind,  as  everything  bored  me  ? 
Night  and  day  I  continually  felt  stunned  by  a  buzzing 
noise  in  my  head,  which  was  most  annoying ;  and  what 
is  worse,  sounds,  noises,  and  voices,  even  of  the  most 
moderate  kind,  became  insufferable  to  me.  A  coach- 
man smacking  his  whip  put  me  in  a  tremor,  and  I  ran 
at  the  sight  of  him.  At  home  my  poor  wife  and  my  little 
girls  were  obliged  to  speak  in  the  lowest  voice,  and 
oftentimes  by  signs.  As  I  have  said,  sleep  had  left  me, 
and  all  taste  for  food,  and  I  grew  thinner  before  one's 


I   RETURN   TO  NAPLES.  363 

very  eyes.  I  could  not  read  two  consecutive  pages,  and 
could  not  dream  of  writing.  I  used  to  go  out  of  the 
house  to  escape  melancholy,  and  walk  for  a  long  dis- 
tance at  a  time  without  knowing  where  I  was  going. 
The  buzzing  in  my  head  and  the  noise  in  the  street 
tortured  me.  If  I  saw  any  one  I  knew,  I  avoided  him, 
not  to  be  obliged  to  answer  the  same  tiresome  question 
as  to  how  I  felt.  If  I  went  to  the  studio,  my  melan- 
choly turned  into  acute  pain  on  looking  at  my  works 
which  I  could  not  begin  to  touch,  and  I  felt  my  heart 
throb  so  hard  that  I  cried  most  bitterly. 

I  could  not  continue  on  in  this  condition,  and  by 
advice  of  the  doctor  I  resolved  to  go  with  my  family  to 
Naples.  I  hoped  to  recover  my  health  in  that  great  gay 
city,  under  that  splendid  sky,  in  that  mild  atmosphere 
pure  and  impregnated  with  life,  and  my  hope  was 
strengthened  by  the  remembrance  that  I  had  once  re- 
covered my  health  there  ten  years  before.  I  left  on  the 
morning  of  the  Epiphany,  the  6th  of  January  1863,  and 
that  night  I  spent  at  Rome  at  the  Hotel  Cesari.  I  did 
not  stop  in  Rome,  and  saw  no  one.  I  saw  mechanically 
— more  than  anything  else,  to  amuse  my  poor  family — 
the  finest  monuments  of  the  Eternal  City ;  and  the  day 
after  took  the  road  to  Naples — a  true  via  crisis,  by  which 
I  hoped  to  regain  my  health.  We  arrived  in  Naples  be- 
tween eight  and  ten  o'clock.  I  ordered  the  coachman 
to  take  us  to  the  Hotel  de  France.  There  was  no  room 
to  be  had,  so  we  were  conducted  to  a  poor,  dirty  little 
inn,  with  which,  being  late,  we  were  obliged  to  content 
ourselves.  The  day  following,  my  friend  Giuseppe  Man- 
cinelli  insisted  (in  spite  of  my  opposition,  not  wishing  to 
inconvenience  him)  that  we  should  lodge  in  his  house, 
Rampa  San  Potito,  near  the  Museum  degli  Studii. 

Mancinelli  was  an  excellent  man,  an  artist  of  merit,  a 


364  CELENTANO. 

good  husband  and  father,  and  a  conscientious  and 
amiable  master  at  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  there.  I 
remember  with  emotion  the  fraternal  care  that  he  took 
of  us.  Poor  friend !  you  too  have  left  us,  but  the 
memory  of  your  virtues  and  love  still  lives  with  us,  and 
is  a  consolation  to  us  in  the  midst  of  the  coldness  of  so 
many  who  have  never  known  the  religion  of  friendship, 
or  who,  if  they  appeared  devoted,  only  sought  to  steal 
the  candles  offered  by  the  faithful  to  her  altar. 

The  first  days  after  my  arrival  at  Naples  were  very 
sad.  The  noises  and  voices  in  that  immense  city  nearly 
drove  me  out  of  my  mind,  added  to  which  the  weather 
was  wretched — for  we  had  nearly  a  month  of  rain — so 
there  were  no  walks  to  be  taken,  and  nothing  to  distract 
me.  Fortunately  I  had  all  my  family  with  me,  and  my 
thoughts  were  not  in  Florence,  as  they  had  been  during 
my  former  visit.  I  gave  no  thought  to  my  studio,  and 
only,  as  if  in  a  vision,  the  head  of  my  Madonna  appeared 
to  me  in  the  sad  pose  in  which  I  had  left  her,  fearing 
that  I  should  never  see  her  again.  In  vain  Mancinelli 
and  his  family,  and  my  friends  Morelli,  Aloysio,  Mal- 
darelli,  Palizzi,  and  others,  tried  to  rouse  me  out  of  my 
despondency.  How  well  I  remember  with  what  pains 
poor  Celentano,  whom  I  then  knew  for  the  first  time,  tried 
to  cheer  me  up  !  Poor  Celentano !  brightest  light  of  that 
fine  school  that  searches  for  and  finds  material  in  the  uni- 
verse of  nature  to  embody  the  fantasies  of  the  brain,  how 
soon,  and  in  what  a  manner,  your  light  was  extinguished  ! 

Enough — enough  of  the  dead,  otherwise  I  shall  fall 
into  the  elegiac,  which  would  be  ridiculous  in  these  simple 
memoirs  !  But  if  it  be  true  that  every  thought  must 
be  clothed  in  its  own  special  garb,  how  sad  is  that  of 
death,  although  through  her  veils  shines  the  hope  of 
heaven ! 


365 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


A  PROPHETIC  DREAM — GIOVANNI  STRA2ZA— SIGNOR  VONW1LLER  AND  SOCIETIES 
FOR  PROMOTING  ART — RETURN  FROM  NAPLES  TO  ROME,  AND  MY  DAUGH- 
TER LUISINA'S  ILLNESS- — OUR  RETURN  TO  FLORENCE — DEATH  OF  TRIA  THE 
MODEL  —  THE  MOSSOTTI  MONUMENT  AT  PISA  —  HOW  IT  WAS  THAT  I  DID 
NOT  MAKE  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  HIS  MAJESTY  THE  KING  —  THE  COMPETI- 
TION FOR  CAVOUR'S  MONUMENT — i  GO  TO  TURIN  TO  PASS  JUDGMENT  ON 

IT — THE  "CHRIST  AFTER  THE  RESURRECTION,"  A  COMMISSION  OF  SIGNOR 
FILIPPI  DI  BUTI  —  RELIGIOUS  ART  AND  ALESSANDRO  MANZONI  AND  GINO 
CAPPONI —  THOUGHT  IS  NOT  FREE — CAVOUR'S  MONUMENT  —  THE  DESCRIP- 
TION OF  IT. 


N  D  yet  I  do  not  feel  in  the  vein  to  stop  talk- 
ing of  the  dead.  It  is  so  sweet  to  go  back  in 
memory  to  those  dear  persons  that  we  have 
loved  and  esteemed,  and  who  have  returned 
our  love.  One  day  in  Rome — it  was  in  the  summer  of 
1864 — a  young  painter  of  the  brightest  promise  had  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  his  betrothed,  who  was  a  long  way 
off.  In  it  she  expressed  the  great  anxiety  she  had 
been  suffering  on  account  of  a  dream  she  had  had,  in 
which  she  had  seen  her  dear  one  drowning ;  and  she  be- 
seeched  him  in  the  warmest  manner  to  pay  attention  and 
not  expose  himself  to  danger.  The  ingenuousness  and 
affection  in  this  letter  made  the  young  painter  smile,  and 
in  his  answer  he  jokingly  expressed  himself  as  follows  : 
"  With  regard  to  your  dream,  set  your  mind  at  rest,  be- 
cause if  I  don't  drown  myself  in  wine,  I  shall  certainly 


366  VISCONTI   THE   PAINTER. 

not  drown  in  water."  A  few  days  after  this  some  of  his 
friends  proposed  to  him  to  go  and  bathe,  but  he  refused 
decidedly,  and  said,  "  Go,  the  rest  of  you ;  I  don't  want 
to  bathe,  and  shall  go  home,"  and  he  left  them.  Shortly 
after  this  his  friends  went,  as  they  had  decided,  to  bathe, 
and  they  saw  a  young  fellow  struggling  in  the  water ; 
recognising  him,  they  at  once  undressed  and  ran  to  his 
rescue,  as  it  was  evident  that  he  did  not  know  how  to 
swim.  Their  attempt,  as  well  as  that  of  others,  was  vain, 
for  the  poor  young  man  went  down  and  was  carried 
away  by  the  current  of  the  Tiber  to  a  great  distance 
from  the  spot  where  he  had  thrown  himself  in.  This 
young  man  was  universally  and  sincerely  regretted. 
Painting  lost  in  him  one  of  her  brightest  geniuses,  and 
Siena,  his  birthplace,  a  son  that  would  have  been  a  very 
great  honour  to  her.  Some  studies  sent  by  him  to  Siena, 
and  a  picture  of  San  Luigi  in  the  Church  of  the  Madonna 
del  Soccorso  at  Leghorn,  bear  witness  to  Visconti's 
talent,  a  name  dear  and  revered  amongst  all  artists.  He 
studied  at  the  Sienese  Academy,  under  Luigi  Mussini, 
who,  besides  his  sound  principles  in  art,  had  the  power 
of  being  able  to  communicate  them,  and  carried  persua- 
sion and  conviction  through  the  weight  of  example.  Vis- 
conti  was  buried  in  Rome  in  the  Church  of  San  Barto- 
lommeo  all'  Isola,1  a  short  distance  from  the  place  where 

1  Poor  Visconti  is  not  buried  in  the  Church  of  San  Bartolommeo 
all'  Isola.  My  friend  Majoli  tells  me  that  I  have  made  a  mistake. 
His  body  was  taken  there,  as  it  was  found  near  there,  and  the  fu- 
neral took  place  in  that  church  ;  but  the  body  was  taken  afterwards 
to  the  Campo  Verano,  and  buried  in  the  lower  part  of  that  cemetery. 
A  modest  little  monument  called  a  Pincietto  was  erected  over  it  by 
the  subscription  of  several  sorrowing  and  affectionate  friends,  and 
amongst  these  the  good  Majoli,  who  most  particularly  exerted  him- 
self in  modelling  and  cutting  a  portrait  of  him  in  marble,  and  offer- 
ing his  work  as  a  tribute  of  friendship. 


GIOVANNI   STRAZZA.  367 

his  body  was  found,  and  Siena  honoured  him  by  having 
a  modest  but  touching  monument  made  by  his  friend 
Tito  Sarrocchi  and  placed  for  him  in  the  Church  of 
San  Domenico.  Visconti  was  a  handsome  young  man, 
healthy  and  strong,  of  olive  complexion,  black  hair  and 
beard,  endowed  with  an  open,  frank,  loyal,  and  at  the 
same  time  modest,  nature. 

I  return  to  the  living,  I  return  to  Naples.  About 
this  time  the  competition  for  the  statue  of  Victory,  as 
a  monument  for  the  martyrs  of  the  four  revolutions, 
1821,  1831,  1848,  and  1860,  was  to  be  decided  on. 
Many  were  those  competing  for  it,  and  all  Neapolitans — 
amongst  these  Pasquarelli  and  Caggiano,  pupils  of  mine ; 
and  for  this  reason,  as  well  as  on  account  of  my  ill 
health,  I  could  not  accept  the  position  of  judge.  Gio- 
vanni Strazza  was  therefore  invited  to  come  from  Milan ; 
and  he  too  died  a  few  months  ago,  my  poor  friend ! 
He  had  a  very  cultivated  mind,  and  was  as  amiable  and 
polished  in  manner  as  he  could  be.  I  knew  him  first 
in  Rome  in  1844,  when  he  was  very  young,  and  when 
artists,  amateurs,  and  all  people  crowded  round  his  first 
statue  of  Ishmael.  To  all,  as  well  as  to'  me,  he  was  open- 
hearted,  loyal,  and  sincere,  and  his  words  were  always 
urbane  and  pleasant.  I  saw  him  again  at  Vienna  in 
1873,  when  he  was  my  companion  in  the  jury  for  our 
section  of  sculpture  at  the  great  exhibition.  But  let  us 
really  return  to  the  living,  if  that  be  possible. 

The  prize  for  the  statue  of  Victory  was  adjudicated  to 
Emanuele  Caggiano,  and  justly  so.  I  think  this  statue  is 
one  of  his  finest  works.  I  have  heard  nothing  of  him 
now  for  a  long  time,  and  am  afraid  that  he  does  not 
occupy  himself  with  the  same  fervour  that  he  displayed 
when  he  began  to  work  under  my  direction. 

I  revisited  all  the  things   that   I  had  seen  the  first 


368         SIGNOR  VONWILLER'S  GALLERY. 

time  I  was  in  Naples,  with  a  feeling  of  ennui,  and  only 
gave  some  attention  to  Pompeii,  because  there  I  had 
the  good  fortune  to  meet  the  Commendatore  Fiorelli, 
director  of  the  excavations,  and  some  artists  that  I  have 
forgotten.  I  remember,  however,  the  brotherly  solici- 
tude shown  me  by  my  friends  Morelli  and  Palizzi,  and 
this  time  even  by  Angelini,  and  the  particular  courtesy 
of  Signer  Vonwiller,  a  most  cultivated  man,  and  so 
great  a  lover  of  art  that  he  has  converted  his  house 
into  a  real  modern  and  most  select  gallery.  Here  one 
finds  in  perfect  harmony  all  the  best  products  of  Italian 
art.  At  that  time  (and  many  years  have  since  passed) 
the  pictures  of  Morelli,  Celentano,  Altamura,  Palizzi,  and 
other  clever  painters  of  that  beautiful  school,  were  admi- 
rably exhibited ;  there  too,  Vela,  Magni,  Angelini,  and 
Fedi  had  works  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  these  I  felt  honoured 
also  to  find  myself  represented  by  my  two  statues  of 
Bacchini,  the  "Festante"  and  the  "Dolente."  If  every 
city  in  Italy  had  a  gentleman  like  Vonwiller,  it  may  easily 
be  believed  that  art  would  derive  great  benefit  from 
it;  for  taste  backed  by  great  fortunes  has  more  direct 
and  potent  efficacy  than  all  the  societies  for  promoting 
art,  where,  with  small  sips  and  small  prizes,  the  genius 
of  poor  artists  is  frittered  away.  Until  the  day  when 
these  societies  make  the  heroic  resolution  of  only  con- 
ferring two  or  three  prizes  (be  it  for  pictures  or  statues 
of  small  dimensions ;  the  size  does  not  matter,  as  long 
as  they  are  really  beautiful),  art  will  not  advance  one 
step.  But  in  the  meanwhile,  let  us  take  things  as  they 
are  and  push  on. 

The  repose  and  the  balmy  airs  of  beautiful  hospi- 
table Naples  worked  a  wonderful  change  for  the  better 
in  my  health.  Sleep,  that  beneficent  restorer  of  the 
forces,  which  for  some  time  past  had  gone  from  me, 


THE  CHARM  OF  SPRING.  369 

verily  without  my  having  murdered  it,  as  Macbeth  had, 
or  even  in  the  least  offended  it,  returned  with  its  blan- 
dishments and  its  calm  smiling  visions  full  of  pleasant 
happy  memories.  It  was  the  season  of  the  year  when 
nature  dons  again  her  green  mantle.  In  that  happy 
country,  her  awakening  is  more  precocious,  and  one 
could  say  that  nature  was  there  a  very  early  riser;  and 
whilst  the  mountains  were  still  all  covered  with  snow, 
on  those  sweet  slopes,  on  those  enchanted  shores,  the 
little  green  new-born  leaflets  mix  with  the  blossoms  of 
the  apple,  almond,  and  peach  trees.  The  light  morn- 
ing breeze  makes  these  leaflets  and  blossoms  tremble, 
and  wafts  to  the  air  a  sweet  delicate  perfume,  that 
revives  the  body  and  rejoices  the  spirit. 

This  reawakening  of  nature  has  in  it  I  know  not 
what  of  harmony  that  is  difficult  to  describe.  It  seems 
as  if  the  chest  expanded  to  drink  in  the  air  with  unusual 
longing ;  the  eyes  are  never  weary  of  looking  again  at  the 
budding  flowerets,  whose  odour  one  inhales  with  a  chaste 
voluptuousness,  as  of  the  breath  of  our  children  in  their 
mother's  arms.  The  mysterious  wave  of  life,  that  in- 
sinuates itself  in  the  earth,  penetrating  even  into  its 
most  infinitesimal  parts,  that  prepares  the  nuptial  bed, 
and  makes  the  budding  vegetation  fruitful;  the  wave, 
that  in  the  profound  depths  of  the  sea  gladdens  the  life 
of  its  mute  inhabitants,  gives  joy  and  swiftness  to  the  flight 
of  the  birds  in  the  air,  makes  the  animals  of  the  earth 
walk  with  more  erect,  ready,  and  joyful  step, — the  wave 
of  life,  more  than  all,  operates  wonderfully  on  man. 
And  I — I  felt  myself  born  unto  a  new  life;  nature 
seemed  to  me  more  beautiful,  her  bounty  more  desir- 
able; the  wish  to  observe  and  to  work  returned  to  me, 
the  enjoyment  of  conversation,  attention  in  listening, 
temperance  in  discussions,  and  courtesy  in  contro- 
2  A 


370  ILLNESS  OF  LUISINA. 

versies,  all  impulses  of  the  mind,  wherein,  it  seems  to 
me,  lies  the  mysterious  harmony  of  body  and  soul 
in  perfect  union — metis  sana  in  corpore  sano. 

Having  therefore  recovered  my  health,  and  taken  leave 
of  my  friend  Mancinelli  and  his  good  family,  I  again 
left  for  Rome,  with  the  intention  of  passing  the 
approaching  Holy  Week  there ;  but  it  so  happened  that 
my  poor  Luisina,  the  youngest  of  my  daughters,  fell  ill. 
Some  symptoms  of  her  illness  had  already  manifested 
themselves  in  the  first  days  after  our  arrival ;  then  she 
had  to  take  to  her  bed,  and  became  so  much  worse, 
that  we  were  all  in  the  greatest  anxiety — two  months 
of  such  anxiety  as  only  a  father  can  understand;  and 
she  was  so  sweet  a  creature,  and  so  intelligent !  Then 
she  improved  a  little,  but  did  not  recover.  We  left 
hurriedly,  because  the  bitterness  of  losing  her  away  from 
home  was  unbearable  to  us.  The  affectionate  solici- 
tude of  our  friends  at  this  juncture  was  really  brotherly. 
Majoli,  Marchetti,  Mantovani,  Wolf,  and  Tenerani 
came  forward  and  showed  us  indescribable  kindness, 
and  I  remember  it  with  gratitude,  that  no  time  can 
ever  efface  or  weaken. 

After  our  return  to  Florence,  under  treatment  the 
disease  seemed  to  have  been  got  under ;  she  recovered 
her  health,  and  we  thought  no  more  about  it. 

I  took  up  my  studio  life  again.  As  I  stood  before  my 
work  that  I  had  left  when  in  a  state  of  such  utter  prostra- 
tion, it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  almost  a  new  spirit 
within  me.  The  head  of  the  Madonna,  who,  when  I 
left,  looked  as  if  she  was  sorrowing  for  me,  now  seemed 
to  me  so  full  of  sadness  that  I  did  not  touch  it  again, 
and  it  remains  just  as  it  was  when  I  left,  tormented  by 
the  insupportable,  atrocious,  and  stunning  noise  in  my 
head.  Tears  of  emotion,  of  gratitude,  and  of  feeling  ran 


TRIA,  THE  MODEL  OF  MY  "CHRIST."       371 

down  my  cheeks  as  I  stood  before  the  clay,  and,  full  of 
confidence,  I  set  myself  again  to  work.  In  thought  I 
returned  to  the  days  of  my  sufferings,  when  the  fear  of 
losing  my  mind  frightened  me,  and  I  dared  not  look  at 
my  children  or  at  my  good  wife.  These  remembrances 
quickened  the  pleasure  I  felt  in  my  new  state  of  health, 
and  I  thanked  the  Lord  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 

I  had  taken  Tonino  Liverani  (nick-named  Tria)  as  a 
model  for  my  "Christ."  He  was  rather  too  old  for  a 
"  Christ,"  but  I  was  not  able  to  find  another  who  united 
such  majesty  and  grace  of  movement  and  of  parts. 
Hardly  had  I  put  the  whole  masses  together  and  begun 
to  define  some  of  the  outlines,  when  he  fell  ill  and  died 
in  a  few  days.  I  went  to  see  him  when  he  was  at  his 
worst,  and  the  poor  man  was  glad  to  see  me,  and  was 
pained  (as  he  said)  not  to  be  able  to  finish  the  "  Dead 
Christ."  With  his  deep  sunk  eyes,  mouth  half  opened, 
and  with  the  pallor  of  death  upon  him,  he  looked  mar- 
vellously beautiful,  and  strangely  like  that  type  of  Christ 
that  good  artists  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries 
have  handed  down  to  us.  Poor  Tria,  I  still  remember 
the  long,  piteous  look  you  gave  me  when  we  bade  each 
other  good-bye ! 

Scarcely  had  I  finished  the  model  for  the  "Pieta," 
when  I  modelled  the  statue  of  Astronomy  for  the  Mos- 
sotti  monument,  which  is  in  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa, 
a  work  that  I  had  pledged  myself  to  make  for  its  mere 
cost;  and  I  did  so  most  willingly  on  account  of  the 
reverent  friendship  that  I  had  had  for  Mossotti.  But 
even  the  expenses  were  not  covered,  and  ta  all  my 
pressing  inquiries  I  never  got  a  word  of  answer  from  the 
treasurer  of  the  committee,  in  consequence  of  which  the 
committee  itself  was  never  able  to  publish  a  report  of 
its  administration.  But,  that  the  word  expenses  may  be 


372  BUST   OF   VICTOR   EMMANUEL. 

clearly  understood,  I  wish  it  to  be  known  that  that 
statue,  with  its  sarcophagus,  base,  and  ornamentation, 
I  had  pledged  myself  to  make,  and  did  make,  for  six 
thousand  lire.  I  have  received  five  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  fifty  ;  there  remain  the  hundred  and  fifty, 
which  I  am  obliged  to  make  a  present  of,  after  having 
given  gratuitously  my  work  on  the  models  and  the  finish- 
ing of  it  in  marble.  I  don't  know  if  it  is  so  with  other 
artists,  but  with  me  it  has  always  happened  that  the 
works  I  have  been  desirous  of  making  for  their  mere 
cost — which  is  like  saying,  as  a  present — have  not  been 
accepted,  or,  besides  giving  my  own  work,  I  have  been 
obliged  to  add  something  from  my  pocket !  Before 
these  memoirs  are  finished  the  reader  will  find  some- 
thing else  of  the  same  kind  which  will  serve  as  a  lesson 
and  warning  to  young  artists,  even  if  they  ever  feel  within 
them  the  "  softness  "  to  work  for  nothing. 

In  another  place  I  have  said  that,  in  the  enumeration 
of  my  works,  I  should  not  make  mention  of  the  portraits. 
I  was  obliged,  however,  to  deviate  from  that  promise  to 
speak  of  one  that  had  occasioned  a  great  deal  of  talk  and 
false  reports  about  me.  I  must  now  speak  of  another 
that  I  was  to  have  made,  and  did  not — that  is  to  say, 
the  portrait  of  his  Majesty  King  Victor  Emmanuel.  Why 
I  never  made  it  I  cannot  say  myself,  and  perhaps  the 
reader  himself  will  not  know  after  he  has  read  the  fol- 
lowing account,  unless  he  is  satisfied  with  the  explana- 
tion that  I  shall  presently  give. 

The  Superintendent  of  the  Archives,  Commendatore 
Francesco  Bonaini,  after  having  put  in  order  and  nearly 
reconstructed  the  archives  of  Pisa,  wished  to  put  in  the 
main  hall  a  marble  bust,  of  almost  colossal  size,  of  Vic- 
tor Emmanuel ;  and  in  order  to  determine  the  size  and 
study  the  light,  I  went  with  him  to  Pisa  to  see  the  place 


BUST   OF  VICTOR   EMMANUEL.  373 

itself  where  the  bust  of  the  King  was  to  stand.  Having 
seen  it  and  fixed  upon  the  size  of  the  bust,  I  made 
one  condition,  agreeing  to  all  arrangements  as  to  price 
and  time  for  making  it.  The  condition  that  I  made — a 
most  natural  one — was  that  his  Majesty  should  concede 
to  me  the  sittings  required,  that  I  might  model  him  from 
life  and  not  from  photograph.  The  syndic  of  the  day 
(Cavaliere  Senatore  Ruschi,  if  my  memory  serves  me) 
went  to  Florence,  accompanied  by  some  of  the  assessors, 
to  ask  the  King,  first  for  the  permission  of  placing  his 
portrait  in  the  Great  Hall  of  the  Pisan  Archives,  and 
then  to  grant  the  necessary  sittings  to  the  artist,  and 
settle  the  place,  the  time,  and  the  length  of  the  sittings, 
according  to  his  Majesty's  pleasure.  Both  the  "one  re- 
quest and  the  other  were  granted  most  graciously  by  the 
King  with  his  usual  affability,  and  he  added  that  he  knew 
the  artist  and  was  well  satisfied,  and  that,  in  the  mean- 
while, they  were  to  wait  for  notice  to  communicate  to  me 
that  I  might  begin  my  work.  Months  passed,  and  this 
notice  never  came ;  Bonaini  was  pressing  me,  being  in  a 
hurry  to  have  the  archives  inaugurated,  and  I  appealed 
to  his  Excellency  Marchese  di  Breme,  Minister  of  the 
Royal  House,  to  beg  the  King  to  let  me  have  the  required 
sittings,  but  my  request  met  with  no  good  result.  Later, 
after  the  death  of  Di  Breme,  I  made  the  same  appeal 
to  the  Marchese  Filippo  Gualterio,  who  succeeded  him 
in  that  office ;  but  this  appeal  not  only  had  no  good 
result,  but  did  not  even  receive  an  answer.  As  the 
affair  of  the  inauguration  of  the  Pisan  Archives  had 
boiled  over,  Bonaini  did  not  speak  of  it  again,  and 
naturally  neither  did  I.  Here  there  would  be  some 
observations  to  be  made  on  this  favour  having  been 
asked  for  and  granted,  and  then  given  up.  As  for  me, 
I  resolve  the  question  in  a  few  simple  words  and  say, 


374     JURY  OF  ARTISTS  ON  CAVOUR'S  MONUMENT. 

that  as  it  is  a  most  boring  thing  to  all  to  stand  as  model, 
for  a  king  it  must  be  excessively  so  and  insufferable,  and 
therefore  the  notice  to  begin  this  boring  business  never 
came  from  the  person  who  was  to  undergo  it ;  and  it  is 
reasonable  enough,  and  even  satisfies  me,  who  have  posed 
as  model  two  or  three  times. 

About  this  time  the  Syndic  of  Turin  invited  me  to 
form  part  of  a  commission  of  artists  to  pass  judgment  on 
the  models  sent  up  for  Cavour's  monument.  I  was  then 
at  Leghorn  with  my  family,  as  my  little  girls  were  in  need 
of  sea-bathing.  I  had  no  need  for  it  myself,  and,  in 
fact,  I  think  that  the  damp  salt  air  was  not  good  for  me, 
and  I  stayed  there  most  unwillingly,  so  that  when  the  in- 
vitation to  go  to  Turin  came  I  instantly  accepted  it  with 
pleasure  as  a  fortunate  opportunity  to  change  the  air  and 
have  something  to  occupy  my  mind ;  and  leaving  my  wife 
with  the  two  youngest  little  girls,  I  took  Amalia  with  me. 

This  competition,  of  which  we  were  to  judge,  was  a 
second  trial,  as  the  first  had  failed;  the  competitors  were 
many,  and  some  of  them  praiseworthy.  My  colleagues 
in  the  jury  were,  if  I  remember  right,  the  Professors 
Santo  Varni  of  Genoa,  Innocenzo  Fraccaroli  of  Milan, 
Ceppi  of  Turin,  and  another  whose  name  I  cannot  recall. 
The  examination  was  a  long  one,  and  the  discussion, 
although  opinions  differed,  was  a  quiet  one  :  the  majority 
pronounced  itself  favourable  to  a  project  of  the  architect 
Cipolla,  which  was  in  drawing ;  my  vote  had  been  for 
one  of  the  two  designs  in  relief  by  Vela.  The  reporter 
of  our  decision  was  Professor  Ceppi.  I  returned  to  Leg- 
horn to  my  family,  and  from  there  to  Florence,  where 
I  again  took  up  my  work. 

Signer  Ferdinando  Filippi  di  Buti,  whom  I  had  met 
at  Leghorn,  showed  himself  desirous  of  having  a  statue 
of  mine  to  put  in  the  mortuary  chapel  that  he  had  built 


IMPORTANCE  OF  RELIGIOUS  SENTIMENT.      375 

from  its  very  foundation  close  to  one  of  his  villas  on  the 
pleasant  hill  that  rises  above  the  town.  The  subject  was 
a  beautiful  one,  and,  after  the  "  Dead  Christ,"  I  could  not 
have  desired  anything  better  to  make  than  "  Christ  after 
the  Resurrection,"  and  this  was  the  very  subject  that 
Signer  Filippi  wanted  of  me. 

The  "  Triumph  of  the  Cross,''  the  "  Madonna  Addolo- 
rata  "  that  I  spoke  of  further  back,  the  "  Pieta,"  and  this 
"Christ  after  the  Resurrection,"  are  the  strictly  religious 
subjects  that  I  have  made — rather,  that  I  have  had  the 
good  fortune  to  make,  because  I  believe  that  such  sub- 
jects, always  beautiful  in  themselves,  when  they  find  the 
soul  of  the  artist  disposed  to  feel  them  and  comprehend 
them,  are  also  capable  of  high  serene  inspiration,  and 
secret  efficacy  to  the  soul  of  those  who  behold  them,  be 
they  in  spirit  even  thousands  of  miles  distant  from  the 
number  of  believers. 

Let  the  truth  prevail.  Religious  sentiment  has  its 
root  in  the  heart,  in  the  intellect,  in  the  imagination, 
and,  in  a  word,  in  all  the  impulses  of  the  soul.  A  heart 
without  God  is  a  heart  without  love,  and  will  not  love 
woman  but  for  the  brutal  pleasure  she  procures,  and,  in 
consequence,  not  even  the  children  that  are  the  fruit  of, 
and  also  a  burden  upon,  his  selfishness.  He  will  not 
love  his  country  except  for  the  honours  and  the  gain 
that  can  be  got  out  of  it,  and  will  sacrifice  it  carelessly 
for  a  single  moment  of  pleasure  or  interest,  because  a 
heart  without  God  is  a  heart  without  love.  An  intelli- 
gence without  the  knowledge  of  God  is  wanting  in  a 
basis  as  starting-point  for  all  its  reasoning — it  is  without 
the  light  that  should  illumine  the  objects  it  takes  hold  of 
to  examine.  Such  an  intellect  is  circumscribed  within 
the  narrow  circle  of  things  perceptible  to  the  senses, 
where,  finding  nothing  but  aridness  wherein  to  quench 


376  RELIGIOUS   SENTIMENT. 

its  burning  thirst,  which  is  always  insatiate  for  goodness 
and  truth,  it  ends  either  in  a  fierce  desire  of  suicide,  or 
as  a  vengeance  of  nature's  own  in  that  saddest  of  nights, 
madness.  An  imagination  deprived  of  the  splendid 
visions  of  the  supersensible,  loses  even  its  true  functions, 
because,  not  seeing  or  divining  through  time  and  space, 
through  life  and  death,  in  the  stars  and  in  the  atoms, 
anything  but  a  casual  mechanism,  it  is  cruelly  condemned 
to  inertia,  and  with  clipped  wings  can  no  longer  sustain 
its  flight — those  wings  which  so  potently  upheld  Dante  as 
he  passed  from  planet  to  planet,  leaving  the  earth  down 
in  depths  far  beneath  him.  The  eye  accustomed  to  mat- 
ter is  besmeared  with  mud,  and  can  no  longer  bear  the 
bright  light  of  the  sun  and  the  planets,  which  seem  as  if 
they  were  the  eyes  of  God. 

Religious  sentiment  has  existed  in  all  times,  amongst 
all  people,  and  it  exists  in  the  conscience  of  man  inde- 
pendent of  all  education  and  example.  The  immense 
vault  of  the  heavens;  the  innumerable  planets  resplendent 
in  light ;  the  sun  that  illuminates,  warms,  and  fertilises 
the  earth ;  the  expanse  of  the  waters  of  the  sea ;  the 
prodigious  variety  and  beauty  of  animals,  plants,  and 
fruits;  the  loveliness  of  colours,  harmony  of  sounds 
from  everywhere,  and  for  all  our  senses, — come  to  us 
as-  the  proof  of  God.  But  more  even  than  from  ex- 
terior things  we  feel  it  within  ourselves.  The  blood 
shed  by  the  martyrs  fighting  for  the  faith ;  life  given  in 
large  profusion  for  the  defence  of  country,  liberty,  and 
honour,  or  our  women  and  children ;  active  indignation 
against  tyranny,  cowardliness,  and  injustice ;  the  tender 
charm  we  feel  for  innocence,  admiration  for  virtue,  and 
charity  towards  the  poor,  orphans,  and  those  in  trouble, — 
all  these  are  signs  that  God  has  placed  within  us  a  part 
of  His  very  nature.  We  feel  within  us  the  impulses  of 


VISIT   OF   MANZONI.  377 

charity,  and  in  prayer  we  feel  our  heart  •  expand  with 
hope ;  out  of  frailty  we  fall,  and  faith  renews  in  us  the 
strength  to  rise  again.  Religious  sentiment  makes  the 
heart  glow,  illuminates  the  intellect,  fertilises  the  imagi- 
nation, and  creates  not  only  the  good  citizen  and  good 
father,  but  also  the  artist. 

Our  hundred  basilicas,  the  paintings  and  statues  of 
our  Christian  artists  that  Italy  and  the  world  is  so  rich 
in,  bear  witness  to  this  tribunal  of  truth  to  which  anxious 
humanity,  even  from  its  earliest  days,  appeals.  Phidias, 
Homer,  Dante  and  Michael  Angelo,  Brunellesco  and 
Orgagna,  Raphael  and  Leonardo,  Donatello  and  Ghi- 
berti,  and  a  hundred  others,  prove  that  religious  inspira- 
tion is  of  so  large  a  source  that  one  can  always  draw 
from  it ;  and  although  in  the  application  of  it  the  form 
may  in  a  measure  vary,  yet  it  will  always  be  great  and 
admirable,  because  the  mind  that  lifts  itself  up,  though 
it  may  deviate  more  or  less  salient  in  curves,  will 
always  remain  elevated.  Correggio  and  Bernini,  Guido 
Reni  and  the  Caracci,  were  under  the  bad  influence  of 
their  time  as  to  method,  but  the  intention  was  always 
good.  And  coming  down  to  our  recent  fathers,  and 
speaking  always  of  artists,  were  Canova,  Rossini,  and 
Manzoni  not  great,  for  the  very  reason  that  they  took 
their  inspiration  from  religious  subjects? 

As  the  venerated  name  of  Manzoni  has  fallen  from 
my  pen,  I  shall  describe  the  visit  that  he  made  to  my 
studio.  When  his  visit  was  announced  to  me,  I  had 
but  just  finished  the  bas-relief  for  Santa  Croce  and 
the  "  Pieta."  He  was  in  company  with  the  Marchese 
Gino  Capponi,  Aleardi,  and  Professor  Giovan  Battista 
Giorgini.  After  having  seen  several  of  my  works,  he 
stopped  before  the  model  in  plaster  of  the  bas-relief  for 
Santa  Croce,  and  said — 


3/8  THE   POWER   OF   FAITH. 

"  I  see  here  a  vast  subject  that  speaks  to  me  of  lofty 
things  ;  it  seems  to  me  that  in  parts  I  can  divine  its 
meaning,  but  I  should  wish  to  hear  the  artist  himself 
speak  and  explain  his  entire  intention." 

It  is  always  unwillingly  that  I  act  as  cicerone  to  my 
very  poor  works — and  to  say  the  truth,  I  only  do  so 
most  rarely  with  my  intimate  friends  in  order  to  ask  some 
advice ;  but  the  abrupt  request  made  by  such  a  man  as  he 
was  did  not  displease  me,  and  I  began  my  explanation. 
But  after  I  had  been  talking  a  few  minutes,  Marchese 
Gino  Capponi  began  to  stammer  out  something  full  of 
emotion  in  his  sorrow  not  to  be  able  to  see  the  things 
I  was  explaining,  and  had  to  go  out  accompanied  by 
Giorgini,  if  I  mistake  not.  And  here  was  another  of 
those  great  souls  that  warmed  itself  in  the  rays  of  that 
faith  which  broke  asunder  the  chains  of  the  slave — 
opened  the  mind  and  softened  the  heart  of  the  savage — 
restrained  the  flights  of  fancy  within  the  beaten  road  of 
truth  and  good — willed  that  power,  justice,  and  charity 
should  be  friends  with  each  other,  and  made  one  taste  of 
peace  and  happiness  in  poverty — and  that  enlarged  and 
extended  the  confines  of  the  intellect,  of  morality,  and 
of  civilisation. 

I  beg  pardon  if  I  have  enlarged  too  much  on  this  sub- 
ject, but  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  superfluous  to  endeav- 
our to  correct  the  tendency  of  the  day,  when  from  every 
side  one  hears  repeated  that,  for  the  future,  in  art  the 
study  of  religious  subjects  is  at  an  end,  as  if  society  of 
to-day  was  entirely  composed  of  unbelievers  or  free- 
thinkers, who,  by  way  of  parenthesis,  amongst  other 
fine  things  have  never  thought  that  thought  itself  is  not 
at  all  free.  It  seems  to  me  that  thought  is  an  attribute 
of  the  soul  that  is  moved  with  marvellous  rapidity  by 
means  of  a  strength  and  impulse  superior  to  itself,  which 


GUARDIAN  ANGEL  FOR  THE  GRAND  DUKE.   379 

depend  upon  physical  constitution,  education,  and  ex- 
ample. Thought,  with  all  its  freedom,  all  its  flights,  is 
subject,  dependent,  and,  as  one  might  say,  formed  by 
those  forces  and  those  impulses. 

In  the  infinite  scale  of  human  thoughts  there  are  some 
good,  but  a  great  many  more  are  bad.  In  the  moral 
order  of  things,  those  contrary  to  good  are  evil ;  as  in 
the  intellectual,  those  contrary  to  truth — and  in  the 
ideal,  those  contrary  to  the  beautiful. 

Now  thought  moves  inconstantly  from  the  beautiful  to 
the  ugly,  from  the  true  to  the  false,  from  good  to  evil, 
until  our  will,  which  is  really  free,  either  repulses  it  or 
takes  possession  of  it  according  to  the  power,  more  or 
less,  that  reason  has  over  the  will.  It  is  clear,  therefore, 
that  thought  is  not  free,  but,  on  the  contrary,  is  sub- 
servient to  laws  independent  of  and  superior  to  itself. 
How  this  happens  is  quite  another  pair  of  sleeves ;  but 
the  fact  is  this,  our  thought  is  moved,  and  so  to  speak, 
subject  to  this  power.  Will  comes  and  accepts  it,  weds 
it  and  makes  it  its  own,  good  or  bad  though  it  be,  with 
or  without  register  of  baptism,  and  snaps  its  fingers  at 
the  syndic  or  the  priest.  Once  stirred,  thought  moves 
the  will,  and  the  will  assenting,  commands  it  as  with  a 
rod.  And  now,  for  the  second  time,  let  me  really  beg 
pardon. 

After  my  "  Christ,"  his  Imperial  Highness  the  Grand 
Duke  Constantine  of  Russia  gave  me  an  order  for  an 
angel  that  he  wanted  as  a  present  for  a  German  prince, 
whose  name  I  do  not  remember.  This  angel  was  to  be 
the  Guardian  Angel ;  the  subject  was  determined  upon, 
and  I  don't  know  if,  in  the  mind  of  the  giver,  it  was  to 
guard  the  prince  or  the  principality.  If  it  was  the  prince, 
I  hope  my  poor  angel  will  have  done  the  best  he  could ; 
if  the  principality,  I  am  afraid  that  he  has  been  overcome 


380   CIPOLLA   AND   THE   MONUMENT   TO.CAVOUR. 

by  cunning  and  force.  His  head  is  crowned  with  olives, 
and  his  lifted  right  hand  points  to  heaven.  Will  the 
prince  feel  any  consolation  looking  at  the  statue?  I 
hope  so ;  and  in  any  way,  he  will  be  persuaded  that  true 
peace  is  not  of  this  world. 

It  is  now  the  time  and  place  to  speak  of  Cavour's 
monument.  As  I  before  mentioned,  I  was  one  of  the 
judges  on  that  committee.  My  vote  had  been  for  Pro- 
fessor Vela's  design,  but  the  prize  was  obtained  by  the 
architect  Professor  Cipolla ;  and  as  he  was  an  architect, 
he  naturally  could  not  carry  his  work  into  execution :  he 
therefore  went  the  rounds,  and  it  was  not  difficult  for 
him  to  find  several  sculptors  who  assumed,  each  and  all 
of  them,  certain  parts,  either  a  statue  or  bas-relief.  For 
the  principal  statue  of  Cavour,  it  was  the  intention,  I 
know  not  whether  of  Cipolla  or  the  Giunta  Comunale, 
that  I  should  make  it,  but  their  reiterated  request  I  did 
not  think  well  to  accept. 

In  the  meantime,  in  Turin  there  began  to  be  a  sort  of 
persistent,  dull  warfare  against  Cipolla's  design.  All 
sorts  of  possible  and  imaginable  doubts  were  raised 
as  to  its  general  character,  meaning,  proportions,  and 
effect.  That  excellent  artist,  Professor  Cipolla,  pro- 
posed to  put  an  end  to  all  this  talk  by  setting  up  in  relief, 
in  largish  proportions,  a  model  of  his  so-much-contested 
design.  Would  that  he  had  never  done  so  !  The  aver- 
sion to  it  grew  beyond  bounds,  and  pronounced  itself 
by  means  of  the  press  to  such  a  degree,  that  the  Giunta 
thought  it  best  no  longer  to  intrust  him  with  the  commis- 
sion for  the  work ;  for,  by  virtue  of  an  article  in  the  pro- 
gramme for  this  competition,  the  committee  were  not  in 
the  least  tied  down  to  commit  the  execution  of  the 
monument  to  the  gainer  of  the  prize  at  the  competition, 
having  left  itself  full  and  entire  liberty  of  action.  From 


THE  CAVOUR  MONUMENT  GIVEN  TO  ME.      381 

this  began  a  sequel  of  remonstrances  and  appeals  on 
the  part  of  the  artist,  and  answers  backed  by  law  on  the 
part  of  the  commission,  which  was  then  broken  up  and 
another  formed,  for  the  purpose  of  studying  anew  the 
whole  affair. 

I  hurry  over  these  things  quickly  as  they  come  to  me 
and  as  my  memory  has  retained  them  after  many  years, 
without  searching  amongst  letters,  newspapers,  or  else- 
where, wishing,  as  I  have  done  until  now,  to  make  use 
only  of  my  memory. 

The  new  Giunta,  presided  over  by  my  illustrious  and 
lamented  friend  Count  Federigo  Sclopis,  took  up  this 
tangled  affair,  discussed  in  so  many  ways,  and  came  to 
the  determination  of  not  having  any  more  competition. 
They  decided  that  the  best  thing  to  be  done  was  to 
choose  an  artist,  and  order  the  work  directly  from  him, 
leaving  him  free  to  determine  the  rendering  of  the  sub- 
ject, the  size  of  the  monument,  the  materials  to  be  em- 
ployed, and  choice  of  the  site,  and  all  other  matters, 
except,  naturally,  as  to  price  and  time, — which  latter 
could  be  but  short,  owing  to  the  two  years  that  had 
passed  in  competitions !  The  choice  fell  on  me,  who 
was  a  thousand  miles  away  from  thinking  of  such  a 
thing.  However,  before  saying  a  word  to  me,  and  much 
less,  writing  to  me,  I  was  interrogated  by  a  most  estima- 
ble person  if  I  would  accept  that  work,  and  I  answered 
at  once  that  I  would  not :  in  the  first  place,  because 
the  subject  was  a  difficult  one,  on  account  of  its  purely 
political  significance, — so  extraneous,  not  to  say  tire- 
some, to  my  nature  and  studies ;  in  the  second  place, 
because,  having  been  one  of  the  judges  on  that  commis- 
sion, it  did  not  seem  delicate  to  accept  it ;  and  finally, 
because  I  thought  Vela's  design  most  praiseworthy.  But 
neither  my  refusal  nor  the  reasons  I  put  forth  availed 


382  I   ACCEPT   THE   COMMISSION.    . 

to  alter  the  resolution  they  had  now  taken  to  make 
me  accept  the  work,  which,  for  the  matter  of  that,  if 
it  presented  great  difficulties,  and  even  rather  rough 
ones,  in  the  rendering  of  its  great  conception,  yet 
offered  a  most  rare  opportunity,  that  would  have  flat- 
tered many  other  artists  of  more  ambitious  hope  than 
I,  who  have  always  been  temperate.  With  all  this, 
however,  I  should  always  have  replied  in  the  negative, 
had  not  a  gentle  and  most  noble  lady  begged  me  to 
accept,  touching  on  certain  family  affections  that  have 
always  found  in  me  an  echo  of  assent 

I  accepted  this  commission,  therefore,  not  blinding 
myself  to  the  great  difficulties  that  I  was  going  to  en- 
counter, or  the  many  little  annoyances  that  I  should 
undergo  on  account  of  the  disappointed  hopes  of  those 
who  had  competed  for  the  work.  I  saw  and  felt  all  the 
seriousness  of  my  undertaking,  and  thought  of  nothing 
else  but  carrying  it  out  most  conscientiously.  I  asked 
for  eight  years'  time,  which  will  not  appear  much,  to 
execute  the  work  ;  but  I  was  begged  to  be  satisfied  with 
six,  and  I  wrote  my  adhesion,  still  declaring  in  the  con- 
tract that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  complete  it  in 
that  short  time.  Although  I  worked  with  all  possible 
energy,  and  provided  myself  with  additional  workmen 
besides  my  own  usual  ones,  yet  the  monument  could  not 
be  finished  and  put  in  its  place  until  after  the  eight  years 
that  I  had  asked  for. 

My  composition  of  the  architectural  part  of  the  monu- 
ment was  a  quadrangular  base,  with  two  spherical  bodies 
on  each  side,  whereon  reposed  another  base,  with  the 
corners  cut  off,  that  sustained  the  principal  group  of 
Italy  and  Cavour.  In  front,  on  the  lower  base,  is  the 
half-reclining  figure  representing  Right  in  the  act  of 
rising,  who  leans  with  the  right  hand  on  a  broken  yoke, 


DESCRIPTION   OF  MY  DESIGN.  383 

and  clenches  the  left  on  his  breast  in  a  menacing  atti- 
tude. His  head  and  back  are  covered  by  a  lion's  skin, 
signifying  that  right  is  strength.  Opposite  is  Duty,  in 
a  quiet  attitude  of  repose.  His  head  is  crowned  by  a 
wreath  of  olives,  signifying  that  in  the  fulfilment  of  duty 
peace  is  to  be  found ;  his  right  elbow  rests  on  a  block, 
where,  on  the  two  sides  exposed  to  view,  are  sculptured 
in  bas-relief  the  two  extremes  of  human  activity.  On 
one  of  these  there  is  a  king  distributing  a  crown  and 
prizes  to  a  virtuous  man,  whilst  behind  him  there  is  a 
chained  delinquent  undergoing  his  penalty ;  and  on  the 
other  there  is  a  husbandman  ploughing  the  ground.  On 
the  two  lateral  sides  there  are  two  groups.  That  on  the 
right  is  of  Politics,  with  two  little  genii,  Revolution  and 
Diplomacy.  Politics  is  seated,  but  alert,  and  almost 
in  the  act  of  rising :  her  head  is  turned  to  the  little  genius 
of  Diplomacy,  who  has  unfolded  the  treaties  of  1815, 
and  is  gravely  showing  it  to  her  with  his  right  hand, 
whilst  with  his  left  he  hides  behind  him  a  sword  and 
olive-branch,  demonstrating  that  he  brings  with  him 
either  war  or  peace.  The  other  little  genius  of  Revolu- 
tion, in  the  act  of  wishing  to  dash  forward,  is  held  back 
by  Politics,  who  keeps  her  eyes  on  him,  and,  with  a  car- 
essing expression,  tries  to  temper  his  ardour ;  one  of  his 
feet  rests  on  a  fragment  of  medieval  architecture,  and  he 
holds  in  his  right  hand  a  brand,  the  symbol  of  destruc- 
tion. The  group  on  the  left  is  of  Independence,  tightly 
clasping  in  her  embrace  the  little  genius  of  the  Provinces, 
at  whose  feet  still  lies  a  link  of  his  chain  of  captivity. 
Independence  has  Roman  sandals  on  her  feet,  and  a 
warrior's  helmet  on  her  head ;  her  right  arm  is  uplifted, 
and  she  holds  a  broken  chain  in  her  hand,  in  the  act  of 
dashing  it  from  her.  The  other  genius  is  that  of  Unity, 
crowned  by  an  oak -wreath ;  he  holds  the  fasces,  to  show 


384         DESCRIPTION   OF   THIS   MONUMENT. 

that  union  is  strength.  The  principal  group  stands  up 
on  the  top,  and  represents  Cavour,  wrapped  in  his  fune- 
real mantle.  Italy,  at  his  side,  in  the  act  of  rising  from 
her  prostration,  is  offering  him  the  civic  crown,  with  ex- 
pressions of  gratitude,  more  decidedly  expressed  by  her 
left  arm,  by  which  she  holds  her  great  politician  tenderly 
around  the  waist ;  whilst  he,  with  kindly  act,  shows  the 
people  a  chart,  on  which  is  written  his  famous  formula, 
"  Libera  Chiesa  in  liber o  Slato"  or  free  Church  in  free 
State.  On  the  two  faQades  of  the  great  base  are  two  bas- 
reliefs  in  bronze.  In  one  of  these  is  portrayed  the  return 
from  the  Crimea  of  the  Sardinian  troops,  who,  by  Cavour's 
advice,  took  part,  in  union  with  France  and  England,  in 
the  war  against  Russia,  to  put  a  check  to  the  ambitious 
designs  of  that  Power  in  the  East.  The  other  bas-relief 
represents  the  Congress  of  Paris,  where  for  the  first  time, 
on  account  of  Cavour,  Italy's  voice  was  listened  to. 

The  architectural  part  is  made  in  rose  granite  of 
Baveno;  the  ornaments — that  is  to  say,  the  arms, 
cornices,  and  trophies — and  the  statues  are  in  clear  white 
marble  of  Canal  Grande,  which  withstands  all  attacks  of 
weather.  The  entire  monument  is  elevated  on  three 
steps,  and  surrounded  by  a  garden  enclosed  by  railing. 

The  inscriptions  are :  On  the  front,  "  To  Cammillo 
Cavour,  born  in  Turin  the  loth  of  August  1810,  died 
the  6th  of  June  1861."  On  the  side  over  the  Politics, 
"  Audace  prudente  ;  "  over  the  Independence,  "L  Italia 
libero /"  and  behind,  "  Gli  Italiani,  auspice  Torino." 
These  inscriptions  are  by  Professor  Michele  Coppino. 


385 


CHAPTER    XX. 


ALLEGORIES  IN  ART  —  THB  MONGA  MONUMENT  AT  VERONA — OF  MY  LATE 
DAUGHTER  LUISINA  —  HER  DEATH  —  HOW  I  WAS  ROBBED — MONSIGNORE 
ARCHBISHOP  LIMBERTl's  CHARITABLE  PROJECT — ONE  OF  MY  COLLEAGUES— 
NICOL6  PUCCINI  AND  THE  STATUE  OF  CARDINAL  FORTEGUERRI— CESARE 
SIGHINOLFI— CARDINAL  CORSI,  ARCHBISHOP  OF  PISA. 


SHOULD  now  feel  inclined  to  speak  at 
length  of  the  troubles,  the  thoughts,  and  of 
the  opposition  that  I  had  to  encounter 
during  eight  years,  the  grimaces  and  the 
miserable  enmities  of  fickle,  unstable  friends  and  un- 
generous enemies ;  but  I  must  keep  silent,  as  I  have 
been  thus  far  on  all  such  matters,  because  my  intentions 
and  my  works  being  known  to  all,  others  may  judge 
them.  Then  I  also  remember  a  wise  warning  that  was 
given  me  when  I  was  quite  little,  which  is  never  to 
satisfy  any  desire  or  impulse  to  give  vent  to  personal 
resentment,  and  I  have  always  found  myself  the  better 
for  it.  In  such  cases,  silence  has  two  advantages, 
— that  of  leaving  one's  own  soul  at  peace,  and  of  not 
satisfying  those  who  would  take  pleasure  in  hearing  us 
complain. 

Only  on  one  thing  I  will  not  be  silent,  because  this 
does  not  concern  me,  but  is  a  principle  in  art.  I  was 
reproved  for  having  used  allegorical  figures  in  Cavour's 
monument,  it  being  asserted  that  as  the  subject  was 

2  B 


386      HISTORICAL   FIGURES  AND   ALLEGORIES. 

entirely  a  modern  one,  and  could  not  bear  allegory,  it 
was  inopportune  and  improper.  To  which  I  answered, 
that  when  the  subject  permitted,  it  was  well  not  to  think 
even  of  allegories.  If  they  had  said  to  me,  "  A  memo- 
rial of  Count  Cavour  is  wanted,  make  us  a  statue," 
nothing  would  have  been  easier.  A  portrait  -  statue 
dressed  in  the  clothes  he  wore,  one  or  two  bas-reliefs 
on  the  base,  and  a  brief  inscription,  would  have  been 
enough ;  and,  I  repeat,  nothing  would  have  been  easier. 
It  was  not  this,  however,  that  the  commission  required 
for  Cavour's  monument.  The  commission  desired  that 
the  whole  of  his  character  and  intentions,  the  tenacity  of 
his  will,  the  greatness  of  his  propositions,  and  the  bene- 
fits obtained  therefrom,  should  be  portrayed.  Now,  how 
to  explain  this  with  real  historical  figures,  or,  as  they  say, 
in  living  art  ?  As  if  a  complex  idea  expressed  by  one  or 
more  figures,  as  is  the  case  with  allegory,  is  dead  art ! 
Oh,  do  me  the  famous  pleasure,  you  irritating  aesthetics, 
to  go  and  prattle  to  babes !  But  don't  speak  to  them  of 
Phidias,  Zeuxis,  Alcamenes,  and  others,  of  that  dead  art 
that  is  now  more  alive  than  it  ever  was ;  nor  of  Giotto, 
nor  of  Giovanni  and  Andrea  Pisani,  nor  of  Raphael,  nor 
of  Michael  Angelo,  and  many  more,  for  they  might  find 
you  out  in  your  error.  I  repeat,  this  does  not  concern 
me  or  my  work  in  the  least,  but  it  bears  on  a  principle, 
and  is  a  question  that  has  been  many  times  ventilated 
and  resolved  by  the  best  thinkers  in  the  way  of  argument, 
and  by  artists,  who  were  not  blockheads,  in  their  works. 
From  the  noble  Signora  Augusta  Albertini  of  Verona, 
through  my  friend  Aleardo  Aleardi,  I  had  an  order  for  a 
monument  to  her  family,  an  extremely  painful  subject. 
The  Signora  Albertini  had  lost,  one  by  one,  all  her 
family — father,  mother,  brothers,  sisters,  all — and  she 
had  alone  survived ;  alone,  but  with  the  bitterly  sweet 


MONUMENT   TO   THE   FAMILY   ALBERTINI.      387 

memory  of  those  she  had  loved  so  much,  and  the  desire 
to  erect  a  monument  to  them.  Some  time  before,  she 
had  given  the  commission  to  a  young  Veronese  sculptor 
of  great  promise,  Torquato  della  Torre,  and  they  tell 
me  that  he  had  already  made  a  sketch ;  but  shortly  after, 
the  young  sculptor  died,  and  after  a  long  time  had  gone 
by  I  undertook  to  make  this  monument.  Here  is  the 
description  of  it.  On  a  quadrangular  conical  base  there 
is  placed  a  group  consisting  of  the  Angel  of  Death  seated, 
and  prostrated  at  his  feet  the  only  survivor  of  the  family, 
waiting,  as  it  were,  after  the  havoc  made  by  that  angel 
in  her  family,  for  her  turn  to  fall  a  victim.  The  angel, 
seated  on  a  fragment  of  an  antique  frieze,  to  denote  that 
he  is  superior  to  time  and  the  pomps  of  humanity,  is 
crowned  with  cypress,  and  has  a  pained  expression,  as  if 
he  deplored  the  office  that  Divine  Justice  had  ordered 
him  to  fulfil ;  the  exterminating  sword  is  still  in  his  hand, 
but  the  point  is  lowered.  On  the  base  is  a  bas-relief 
representing  the  dead  members  of  that  family ;  and  as 
they  died  at  brief  intervals  the  one  from  the  other,  as 
if  Death  had  blown  them  down  with  her  breath  as  the 
wind  overthrows  the  trees  in  the  country,  so  they  are 
laid  out,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  by  each  other.  A  little 
angel  hovers  in  the  air  near  them  with  hands  clasped  in 
prayer,  and  in  the  background,  on  the  horizon  line,  one 
perceives  Verona.  The  bas-relief  is  in  bronze,  and  its 
colours  add  seriousness  and  sadness  to  the  scene.  On 
the  sides,  and  again  in  bronze,  are  sculptured  two 
wreaths  of  cypress,  so  that  this  first  base  on  the  plinth 
seems  as  if  it  were  entirely  made  of  bronze ;  the  upper 
part,  on  which  the  inscription  is  engraved  and  the  group 
stands,  is  in  granite.  This  monument  is  at  the  end  of 
the  first  nave  on  the  right  in  the  cemetery  at  Verona. 
I  said  in  the  beginning  of  these  memoirs,  that  I  wrote 


388        DEATH   OF    MY   DAUGHTER   LUISINA. 

not  only  for  young  artists  desirous  of  knowing  something 
of  my  life,  my  works,  and  the  principles  that  have  been 
my  guide  in  art  and  my  intercourse  with  my  fellow- 
beings,  but  also  to  leave  to  my  family  a  remembrance  of 
my  feeling  and  affection  for  them.  And  now  that  it 
behoves  me  to  speak  of  one  of  our  greatest  sorrows — 
that  is,  of  the  loss  of  my  most  beloved  daughter  Luisina — 
I  know  that  I  am  doing  what  my  dear  ones  desire,  how- 
ever sad  it  may  be ;  therefore  I  warn  those  not  caring  for 
this  theme  to  pass  on. 

I  would  that  I  could  divest  myself  of  all  my  defects 
to  speak  of  Gigina.  I  woujd  that  this  page  which  I 
consecrate  to  her  memory  breathed  a  little  of  the 
sweetly  chaste  love  that  showed  itself  in  every  act, 
every  word,  and  every  look  of  hers.  I  would  that  I 
could  simplify  my  style,  temper  and  purify  my  words, 
that  they  might  sound  sadly  sweet,  pure,  and  serene, 
as  were  her  words,  her  looks,  and  her  mind.  But  I 
greatly  fear  that  I  shall  not  succeed  in  giving  even  a 
feeble  idea  of  that  dear  child;  I  fear,  because  purity 
and  chastity  of  imagery  and  simplicity  of  words  have  in 
some  measure  vanished  with  my  youth  and  ambition — 
the  passion  and  love  for  renown  have  perhaps  clouded 
the  clearness  of  mind  wherein  was  reflected  the  true 
and  the  good.  I  shall  also  not  succeed,  because  the 
innate  beauty  of  that  sweet  creature  was  not  fully  re- 
vealed to  me,  for  the  confidence  existing  between  a 
daughter  and  her  father  is  always  modified  by  respect ; 
and  so  it  is  bereft  of  those  intimate  and  delicate  traits 
which  are  its  sweetest  perfume.  My  family  will  read 
these  words  on  our  beloved  Luisina,  and  supply  with 
their  loving  memory  where  I  fail  in  my  littleness.  My 
son-in-law,  Antonino,  wrote  of  her  with  the  intelligence 
of  love ;  and  several  of  my  friends  in  condoling  with  me 


LUISINA'S  CHARACTER.  389 

rendered  her  image  more  beautiful  and  more  amiable. 
Yet  notwithstanding  all  this,  I  feel  a  desire  to  return  to 
that  dear  little  angel,  were  it  for  nothing  else  but  to 
rejuvenate  and  sanctify  that  sorrow. 

From  her  early  girlhood  my  Luisina  was  as  vivacious 
and  playful  with  her  little  sisters  and  with  her  mother  as 
they  would  allow  her  to  be;  with  me  she  was  more 
serious,  and  sometimes  even  sad,  perhaps  because  she 
saw  that  I  was  serious,  and  because  at  that  time  my 
health  was  not  good.  As  she  grew  older  she  was  more 
confiding  in  me,  and  displayed  great  love  for  her  mother 
and  sisters.  She  took  pleasure  in  helping  them  with 
such  little  household  affairs  as  no  one  else  could  or  can 
do.  She  also  drew,  seeing  her  sisters  draw,  and  could 
draw  from  memory  faces  and  persons  of  our  acquaintance. 
I  have  also  amongst  her  papers  extracts  copied  by  her 
from  books  that  had  pleased  her.  She  loved  flowers,  and 
in  the  morning,  together  with  her  sisters,  she  gathered 
them  in  the  garden  of  our  villa,  and,  making  bunches 
of  them,  placed  them  on  the  altar  in  the  little  chapel. 
Those  days  were  delicious  ones,  but  they  were  brief! 
There  is  no  happiness  on  earth,  or  it  lasts  but  a  very 
little  while.  True  it  is  that  memory  remains  to  make  us 
taste  of  a  bitterness  mingled  somewhat  with  a  sweet 
sadness,  because  the  dear  person  taken  from  us  lives 
again  in  our  mind  and  responds  to  the  beating  of  our 
heart.  We  remember  the  movements,  the  modest  look, 
the  words,  the  gentle  affections,  and  all  the  virtues  by 
which  she  was  adorned,  rendered  still  more  visible  and 
clear  without  the  encumbrance  of  the  body,  by  whose  veil 
the  light  was  subdued.  And  then — then  there  remains  for 
us  that  sweet,  most  consoling  hope  of  seeing  her  again 
for  evermore,  leaning  on  that  faith  that  "  is  the  substance 
of  things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen." 


3QO          ILLNESS  AND   DEATH   OF   LUISINA. 

O  my  good  Gigina,  my  beloved  little  angel !  I  re- 
member all  that  relates  to  thee — thy  obedience,  thy 
affection,  thy  anxious  delicate  care  of  us,  our  walks  on 
the  delightful  Fiesole  hill  so  dear  to  thee,  almost  a  pre- 
sage that  the  body  should  one  day  have  rest  there,  and 
now  the  little  chapel  in  the  cemetery  there  contains  also 
that  of  thy  dear,  tired,  and  martyred  mother !  Oh  if 
I  had  strength  equal  to  love,  I  would  also  write  of  her! 
I  shall  do  so  in  time,  but  now  I  return  to  thee.  The 
remembrance  of  that  morning  lies  buried  in  my  heart ; 
it  was  in  June  1872,  two  days  before  \hy  fete  day,  San 
Luigi.  For  several  days  thou  hadst  felt  ill,  and  could 
not  dissimulate  as  in  the  past.  That  morning,  before 
going  down  into  Florence,  I  went  into  thy  room,  and 
seeing  that  thou  wast  determined  to  get  up,  I  ordered 
thee  to  remain  in  bed ;  thou  wast  obedient  as  always,  my 
angel,  but  wept,  because  wanting,  as  I  afterwards  knew, 
to  be  up  on  thy  festal  day.  The  illness  was  felt  by  thee, 
but  with  hope  to  overcome  it,  at  least  for  two  days,  re- 
signing thyself  to  all  suffering  thereafter.  Thou  didst 
obey,  but  weeping.  Perhaps  this  aggravated  thy  disease. 
This  is  the  thorn  I  bear  within  my  heart. 

As  soon  as  Bendini,  the  medical  man  from  Fiesole, 
saw  her,  he  thought  her  case  most  grave,  and  wished  to 
consult  her  own  doctor,  Dr  Alberti,  who  had  treated 
her  at  other  times.  I  went  at  once  to  beg  him  to  come, 
and  brought  him  back  with  me,  as  he  has  always  had 
great  kindness  and  friendship  for  us,  and  from  that  day 
he  always  saw  her  in  company  with  Bendini.  But  the 
disease  increased  more  and  more,  and  she  already 
breathed  with  difficulty,  but  preserved  in  her  thoughts 
and  words  serenity  and  resignation.  Then  began  those 
most  painful  alternations  of  disease — a  little  better  and 
then  a  little  worse — and  always  the  same  story  over 


AMALIA  MAKES  A  MONUMENT  TO  HER.   39! 

and  over  again.  There  is  no  pain  more  cruel  and  sting- 
ing than  the  delusion  of  a  hoped-for  good;  the  heart  that 
opens  anxiously  to  hope  is  as  if  crushed  and  torn  from 
one's  breast  by  implacable  delusion.  He  who  has  ex- 
perienced these  painful  alternations  knows  that  they  are 
more  cruel  than  even  death  itself.  O  Great  God  of 
Israel,  sustainer  of  all  faithful  souls,  look  down  upon  the 
affliction  of  Thy  servant !  oh  assist  him  in  all  things  to 
come  !  This  affliction  that  came  to  us  by  God's  will 
broke  down  my  pride,  and  spread  over  my  family  a  veil 
of  sadness ;  it  gave  a  shock  to  my  beloved  Marina's 
health,  and  perhaps  accelerated  her  death. 

Luisina  expired  in  the  first  morning  hours  of  the  day 
of  the  Ascension  of  the  Most  Holy  Mary.  She  had, 
whilst  living,  the  semblance,  the  thoughts,  and  the  affec- 
tions of  an  angel ;  and  she  seemed  to  fall  asleep  in  the 
Virgin's  arms,  and  fly  away  with  her  to  heaven.  In  this 
belief  I  find  comfort  and  a  sweet  peace  that  not  only 
compensates  for  her  loss,  but  even  more,  makes  me  taste 
of  so  pure  a  pleasure  that  no  words  could  express  and 
no  worldly  care  could  disturb.  Her  body  rests  in  our 
chapel  in  the  new  cemetery  at  Fiesole,  and  there  my 
daughter  Amalia  has  erected  a  little  monument  to  her. 
The  sepulchral  urn  is  placed  in  a  niche  with  a  flat  back- 
ground, and  on  it  lies  sculptured  the  dear  child  in  peace- 
ful slumber,  holding  the  crucifix  in  her  right  hand. 
Everybody  could  see,  and  none  better  than  I,  how  much 
poor  Amalia  suffered  in  completing  this  sorrowful  work. 
I  attempted  to  dissuade  her  from  this  most  painful  duty 
she  had  imposed  upon  herself,  but  the  strong  affection 
for  her  dead  sister  suggested  perhaps  to  her  that  in  offer- 
ing this  tribute  of  sister  and  artist  the  pain  would  be 
somewhat  softened. 

I  know  that  this  remembrance,  and  the  thoughts  that 


392          5°>oo°   LIRE   !S   STOLEN   FROM   ME. 

have  dictated  it,  may  make  some  smile ;  but  in  time  they 
will  think  better  of  it,  and  will  know  that  sadness  is 
worth  more  than  laughter,  for  the  heart  becomes  better 
for  the  sadness  in  the  face.  And  with  this  I  have 
finished  talking  of  my  Gigina,  keeping  her  memory 
always  in  my  heart. 

To  narrate  the  death  of  my  Luisina,  I  have  omitted  a 
circumstance,  and  not  a  trifling  one  in  my  life — that  of 
the  theft  that  occurred  to  me  of  fifty  thousand  lire.  I 
hasten  to  declare  that  until  that  day  (it  was  in  1866)  I 
never  had  been  the  possessor  of  such  a  sum,  and  as  soon 
as  I  was,  it  was  stolen  from  me.  This  is  how  I  came 
into  possession  of  the  money,  why  I  kept  it  intact, 
and  how  it  was  stolen  from  me.  I  had  only  begun  on 
Cavour's  monument  a  short  time  before,  and  in  accord- 
ance with  the  form  of  the  contract,  had  received  the 
first  remittance  of  fifty  thousand  lire.  At  the  same  time, 
I  was  arranging  to  buy  a  house  in  the  Via  Pinti  that  I 
thought  I  should  be  able  to  adapt  and  make  into  a 
spacious  studio,  such  as  was  necessary  for  me  in  model- 
ling the  colossal  figures  for  the  monument.  As  the 
sale  of  the  house  was  to  take  place  from  day  to  day,  I 
was  persuaded  also,  by  the  advice  of  my  lawyer,  not  to 
employ  this  money  in  any  way,  so  as  to  have  it  ready  to 
give  in  payment  for  it.  And  as  I  had  kept  the  little 
sums  of  money  that  I  had  had  in  hand  up  to  that  time 
in  a  secret  drawer  of  the  closet  in  my  own  room  in  the 
studio,  I  placed  this  also  there. 

At  this  time  I  was  working  on  the  marble  of  a  statue,  the 
"  Tired  Bacchante,"  which  had  been  bought  by  the  King 
of  Portugal.  I  had  a  young  Roman  girl  as  a  model,  and 
she  came  accompanied  by  her  mother.  This  woman 
also  had  a  son  (so,  at  least,  it  was  said ;  then  it  was  no 
longer  so ;  in  fact,  there  was  some  mystery  that  I  don't 


HOW   THE  THEFT   TOOK   PLACE.  393 

remember,  because  naturally  such  things  were  of  no  im- 
portance to  me).  The  boy  came  also  for  a  model,  and 
appeared  to  be  a  good  fellow,  as  well  as  the  girl. 

One  morning  (I  was  still  in  bed,  but  about  to  get  up) 
my  poor  wife  came  into  the  room  and  said — 

"  Here  is  Bardi,  who  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

"  What  can  he  have  to  say  to  me  ?  Does  he  not  know 
that  in  half  an  hour  I  shall  be  at  the  studio  ?  He  could 
wait.  Let  us  hear  what  is  the  matter." 

Bardi  was  one  of  my  studio  men,  the  rougher-out,  whom 
I  had  brought  up  from  a  boy,  and  he  had  been  with  me 
twenty-three  years.  He  was  a  thin,  white-looking  man, 
with  a  black  beard,  and  dark  lines  under  his  eyes  in  his 
normal  condition.  That  morning,  as  soon  as  I  saw  him, 
he  really  frightened  me,  for  he  looked  absolutely  like  a 
dead  man,  or  as  Dante  says,  cosa  rimorta.  He  took  me 
aside,  that  my  wife  should  not  hear,  and  he  told  me  that 
he  had  found  the  door  of  my  room  open,  and  having 
waited  and  listened  awhile  to  ascertain  if  by  chance  I 
had  arrived  before  him  and  was  inside,  but  not  hearing 
a  sound  after  having  called  me,  he  entered  the  room  and 
saw  the  closet  open,  the  drawers  on  the  ground,  and  the 
papers  scattered  about.  He  asked  me  anxiously  if  I 
kept  anything  of  value  there. 

"  All,  my  dear  Bardi !  all  that  I  possessed  in  money 
was  there."  And  having  almost  no  breath  for  words,  I 
went  out  with  him,  rushing  through  the  street.  It  is 
easier  imagined  than  told  how  I  felt  on  seeing  all  the 
drawers  upset  and  empty,  and  the  papers  and  thousand 
little  objects  they  contained  scattered  about  the  ground. 
All  the  men  of  my  studio  gathered  about  me,  and  pitied 
me  without  even  suspecting  that  it  was  a  matter  of  such 
a  sum  of  money.  My  good  friend  Cavaliere  Raffaello 
Borri,  being  told  what  had  occurred,  came  to  me  at  once, 


394        A   PORTION   OF   THE   MONEY   FOUND. 

and  with  rare  generosity  offered  me  his  purse  and  his 
credit,  and  accompanied  me  home,  with  my  heart  full  of 
anguish  to  be  obliged  to  give  this  news  to  my  poor  wife. 
My  friends  rivalled  each  other  in  consoling  me,  some 
with  offerings  and  some  with  affectionate  words ;  and  I 
can  never  forget  the  charitable  proposition  made  by 
Monsignore  the  Archbishop  Giovacchino  Limberti,  to 
collect  a  certain  sum  for  my  benefit  amongst  those  who 
were  best  able  to  give,  and  who  knew  me  and  loved  me. 
All  these  I  truly  thanked  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
saying  that  for  the  moment  I  was  not  in  straitened  cir- 
cumstances, and  if  I  was  no  longer  in  possession  of  that 
money — for  which,  thank  God,  I  was  not  in  debt — yet 
it  was  not  lawful  for  me  to  accept  help  of  any  kind,  for  in 
substance  I  could  not  call  myself  strictly  in  need,  and 
I  remembered  in  the  past  having  really  been  poor  and 
not  having  accepted  or  asked  for  anything,  because  my 
principle  is  that  every  one  ought  to  be  sufficient  for 
himself. 

How  the  thieves  were  discovered,  how  some  escaped 
from  justice,  how  one  was  taken  and  condemned,  and 
how,  finally,  part  of  the  money  stolen  was  saved,  the  sum 
of  12,400  lire  returned  to  me,  besides  the  gold  medal  that 
I  had  obtained  at  the  Universal  Exhibition  of  Paris  in 
1855,  and  which  was  shut  up  in  the  same  place  with  the 
stolen  money, — all  this  appears  in  the  judiciary  chronicle 
of  that  time.  Nor  do  I  feel  inclined  to  mix  in  such 
.mire,  and  the  reader  could  not  follow  me  without  dis- 
gust. It  was  well  that  in  the  part  of  the  theft  recovered 
my  Paris  medal  was  found,  not  only  because  by  this  the 
reality  of  the  robbery  committed  on  me  was  proved  and 
the  restitution  instantly  made,  but  still  more  because  it 
silenced  some,  I  don't  know  how  to  qualify  them,  who 
seemed  to  doubt  the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  me,  as 


I   FORGET   A   PROMISSORY-NOTE.  395 

if  almost  I  had  invented  it — as  if  I  had  been  a  vulgar 
impostor,  and  had  invented  this  fable  to  avoid  payment 
...  of  what  ?  I  had  never  had  debts  before  that  time, 
then,  or  since ;  and  that  I  had  no  engagements  to  meet 
is  proved  by  the  refusal  I  made  to  those  who  so  kindly 
and  willingly  offered  to  come  to  my  aid. 

But  yes,  once  I  had  a  debt,  but  merely  by  chance,  or 
I  had  better  say  by  forgetfulness.  When  this  happened 
I  was  very  young — at  the  beginning  of  my  artistic  ca- 
reer, if  I  mistake  not.  Then  I  was  making  the  "  Cain." 
In  order  to  put  it  into  marble  I  went  to  Carrara,  found 
the  block  that  suited  me,  and  said  that  I  would  pay  for 
it  when  the  marble  itself  arrived.  The  trader  answered, 
"  All  right !  I  shall  send  the  marble  at  once ;  and  as 
to  the  payment,  I  shall  draw  out  a  promissory-note  for 
the  first  of  the  month."  I  had  before  me  some  twenty 
days'  time.  My  mind  being  entirely  possessed  by  the 
marble,  I  took  no  note  of  the  day  when  the  money 
became  due.  I  knew  that  I  had  to  pay,  but  the  date 
escaped  me,  and  one  fine  day  I  suddenly  beheld  before 
me  a  man  from  a  bank,  who  came  to  receive  the  money 
that  I  had  not  got  in  full.  I  stammered  out  something, 
as  a  man  might  do  about  to  be  hanged.  "  Oh,  don't 
hurry  yourself  much,"  said  the  man;  "suit  your  own 
convenience — I  will  return  later;  there  is  time  until  three," 
and  he  went  away.  How  I  felt  can  easily  be  imagined 
by  those  who  know  me.  I  became  whiter  and  harder 
than  the  marble  that  I  had  then  before  me  on  the 
ground.  I  must  find  there  and  then,  in  the  beat  of  a 
drum,  the  three  or  four  hundred  scudi  that  were  wanting ; 
and  where  to  find  them,  I,  who  had  never  before  asked 
for  anything  in  loan  ?  A  good  inspiration  came  to  me. 
"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  Sor  Emanuele  can  do  me  this  favour ; " 
and  putting  on  my  coat,  I  ran  into  the  square  to  the 


396      AN  INCREDULOUS  COLLEAGUE. 

Fenzi  bank.  Sor  Emanuele  was  there  at  the  back  in  his 
study,  and  you  could  see  through  the  open  glass  door 
that  fine  jovial  witty  face  of  his. 

When  he  saw  me  he  exclaimed,  " How  are  you?" 

"  Sor  Emanuele,  this  and  this  is  the  matter,"  and  I 
told  him  everything. 

He  gave  me  a  slightly  frowning  look,  and  then  burst 
into  a  fit  of  laughter  that  made  his  subalterns  who  were 
behind  turn  round,  and  he  said,  "  Look  here,  we  will  do 
so ; "  he  tore  off  a  cheque,  wrote  the  sum  on  it,  and  con- 
tinuing to  laugh,  added,  "  Pass  on  there  to  Bosi  and  give 
him  this ;  and  au  revoir  until  this  evening"  (I  used  to  fre- 
quent his  house);  but  when  he  had  turned  he  called  me 
back  again  and  said  :  "  Listen — I  want  to  give  you  a 
counsel.  You  must  never  again  sign  any  promissory- 
notes  if  you  can  help  it ;  or  if  you  do,  make  a  note  of 
them  and  look  at  it  every  day," — and  he  began  again  to 
write,  smiling  to  himself. 

Will  you  believe  it,  Sor  reader,  I  have  never  again 
signed  any  bills,  although  more  than  thirty- six  years 
have  gone  by  ?  Yet  (to  return  to  the  robbery),  amongst 
those  who  doubted  my  misfortune  there  was  a  colleague 
of  mine,  who,  listening  that  day  with  an  incredulous  air 
to  the  account  of  what  had  occurred,  and  hearing  that 
the  sum  in  question  was  fifty  thousand  lire,  with  a  smile 
on  his  lips  and  bad  feeling  at  heart,  came  out  with  these 
words — 

"Fifty  thousand  lire!  that  is  rather  too  much  !" 

This  colleague  of  mine  was  not  the  only  one,  nor  one 
of  the  worst.  Some  few  years  ago  a  little  thing  hap- 
pened which  shows  the  uprightness  and  generosity  of 
another  of  my  colleagues  ! 

Cavaliere  Nicolo  Puccini,  in  dying  at  Pistoia,  left  orders 
in  his  will  that  a  statue  of  Cardinal  Forteguerri  should  be 


STATUE  OF  CARDINAL  FORTEGUERRI.   397 

made  and  placed  in  the  Piazza,  del  Duomo  of  that  city. 
Cavaliere  Puccini's  idea  was,  as  every  one  can  see,  a 
wise  and  generous  one,  and  belied  reports,  which  made 
him  out  odd  and  unfriendly  to  the  priests.  This  statue 
was  to  be  assigned  by  competition,  and  with  the  obligation 
of  presenting  a  model  in  plaster  respresenting  the  Car- 
dinal in  his  robes,  with  the  insignia  of  his  office,  and  the 
size  of  life.  It  is  evident  to  all  that  this  obligation  was 
a  serious  one,  and  would  cause  many  to  withdraw  from 
the  competition,  as  really  happened.  One  person,  how- 
ever, went  in  for  the  competition,  and  this  was  Signer 
Cesare  Sighinolfi  of  Modena,  who,  having  left  my  teach- 
ing but  a  short  time  before,  set  himself  to  model  this 
statue  in  too  trivial  a  way — without  a  model,  without 
the  necessary  robes,  and  without  even  caring  a  pin  as 
regards  asking  me  anything  concerning  the  composition, 
or  the  requisite  means  for  not  making  a  jackanapes 
instead  of  a  cardinal !  Vivacious  and  careless  as  he  was 
then,  he  had  the  pretension  of  being  able  to  model  a  car- 
dinal's statue  life-size  by  only  consulting  some  prints  or 
pictures  of  cardinals,  and  the  result  was — as  it  should 
have  been — that  the  statue  was  a  very  bad  one.  An 
article  in  the  programme  for  this  competition  provided 
that  the  adjudication  of  the  prize  should  be  given  by  the 
Florentine  Academy.  I  was  not  present  at  the  meeting, 
to  avoid  giving  a  vote  against  it,  as  I  was  not  unaware  how 
the  work  had  turned  out.  The  poor  statue,  therefore, 
was  judged  and  condemned  without  mercy.  Then,  after 
the  first  ebullition  of  juvenile  impetuosity  that  had  made 
him  run  on  so  foolishly  was  over,  he  returned  to  his 
senses,  remembered  me,  and  as  at  the  same  time  though 
he  had  so  much  youthful  light-heartedness,  he  had  also 
a  certain  tenacity  of  will  and  self-love  that  had  been 
wounded  by  the  rejection  of  his  work,  he  ran  to  me  and 


398  SIGHINOLFl'S   MODEL   REJECTED. 

entreated  me  to  intercede  with  the  commission  that 
organised  the  competition,  and  obtain  for  him  the  conces- 
sion of  another  trial.  I  willingly  agreed  to  do  so,  seeing 
the  despair  he  was  in,  and  appreciating  the  no  small 
amount  of  courage  required  to  recommence  from  the  very 
beginning  a  difficult,  expensive,  and  uncertain  work ;  but 
I  had  to  say  to  him,  "...  that  is,  if  you  are  only  in 
time,  because  the  commission  having  just  fulfilled  its 
duty,  and  the  competition  turned  out  null,  is  now  free  to 
give  the  statue  to  whomsoever  it  likes  without  the  obliga- 
tion of  competition."  It  was  therefore  necessary  to  make 
an  appeal  to  the  commission  to  obtain  its  consent  that 
another  competition  should  be  opened,  and  this  was 
done  by  Sighinolfi,  accompanied  by  a  recommendation 
from  me ;  and  that  it  should  have  more  value,  and  the 
second  trial  be  conceded,  I  advised  Sighinolfi  to  have 
this  appeal  signed  by  all  my  other  colleagues.  He  did 
so,  and  hurried  by  rail  to  Pistoia  to  present  his  request 
to  the  commission ;  but  what  was  his  surprise  when,  on 
his  arrival  there,  and  just  as  he  was  going  up  the  stairs 
to  present  his  paper  to  the  secretary  of  the  commission, 
he  saw  coming  down  one  of  the  professors  who  had 
backed  and  signed  his  appeal !  The  poor  youth  divined 
all,  but  still  wished  to  make  the  attempt ;  and  he  did 
well  to  do  so, — in  fact  the  secretary  in  the  most  polite 
manner  tried  to  persuade  the  young  artist  that  now  there 
was  no  longer  time,  that  the  competition  had  resulted  in 
nothing,  and  that  another  trial  would  only  draw  things 
out  to  too  great  a  length  ;  and  finally,  that  as  an  offer  had 
just  been  made  to  the  commission  in  shape  of  a  re- 
quest for  this  work  whereby  its  own  responsibility  was 
covered,  so  that  it  would  come  out  of  the  affair  with 
honour,  he  thought  the  commission  would  not  accord 
the  petition,  but  that  he  would  take  it,  and  officially 


THE   COMPETITION    REOPENED.  399 

present  it,  so  as  to  give  it  its  due  course.  As  soon, 
however,  as  that  excellent  gentleman  had  set  his  eyes 
on  the  paper,  and  had  seen  the  recommendation  and 
signature  of  the  same  individual  that  only  a  short  time 
before  had  made  a  request  for  the  work  for  himself,  he 
was  so  filled  with  indignation  that,  turning  to  Sighinolfi, 
he  said — 

"  Go  back  to  Florence,  make  another  trial,  and  as  you 
are  recommended  by  Professor  Dupre,  he  will  assist 
you,  and  the  commission  will  trust,  I  am  certain,  to  the 
words  and  help  of  your  master." 

These,  or  words  to  the  same  effect,  were  reported  to 
me  by  Sighinolfi  on  his  return,  and  I  saw  myself  doubly 
pledged  that  the  young  man  should  really  this  time 
succeed. 

Here  I  am  met  by  a  reflection.  Was  it  not  perhaps 
quite  lawful  for  an  artist  to  present  himself  and  ask  to 
have  that  work  to  do  himself,  which,  by  reason  of  an 
unsuccessful  competition,  any  one  was  free  to  ask  for  and 
obtain  ?  Lawful  it  certainly  would  have  been  for  any 
one  who  had  not  recommended  the  young  man  for  a 
second  trial,  but  certainly  it  was  not  praiseworthy  in  one 
who  had  made  this  recommendation  ;  so,  at  least,  it 
seems  to  me. 

Therefore,  as  matters  stood  thus,  I  thought  it  my 
duty  to  advise  and  direct  the  youth  to  follow  a  sure 
road,  and  the  only  good  one  by  which  to  come  safely 
into  port.  And,  satisfying  myself  first  as  to  his  firm 
will  to  do  all  and  follow  in  everything  what  I  advised, 
I  ordered  him  to  make  a  small  sketch,  enough  to 
get  lines  grateful  to  the  eye.  Then,  remembering  the 
kindness  that  Cardinal  Corsi,  Archbishop  of  Pisa,  had 
always  shown  me,  I  wrote  him  a  letter  nearly  in  the  fol- 
lowing terms  :  "  Eminence, — Signer  Cesare  Sighinolfi, 


400        CARDINAL   CORSI   LENDS   HIS   ROBES. 

my  scholar,  is  the  person  who  presents  this  letter  to 
you.  He  has  to  make  the  statue  of  Cardinal  Forteguerri 
for  Pistoia,  but  could  not  possibly  make  anything  good 
without  having  the  robes  appropriate  to  that  high  office. 
See,  Eminenza,  if  it  would  be  possible  for  him  to  obtain 
them  from  you — as,  for  instance,  if  your  Eminence  had 
a  robe,  even  a  worn-out  one,  that  you  could  let  him 
have  for  a  short  time — you  would  be  doing  a  great  act 
of  charity;  for  I  repeat,  without  this  neither  he  nor  any 
one  else  could  succeed  in  doing  anything.  I  am  here 
to  guarantee  that  the  sculptor  will  take  the  greatest  care 
of  it,  and  return  it  as  soon  as  possible,"  &c.,  &c.  Sigh- 
inolfi,  although  he  is  not,  I  believe,  one  of  those  many 
would-be  devourers  of  priests,  yet  was,  and  still  is,  a 
most  decided  Liberal,  and  the  dignity  and  the  face  of 
a  cardinal  must  have  had  the  same  effect  upon  him  as 
coming  in  contact  with  a  most  antipathetic  person  would 
have  upon  you  or  me.  But,  as  the  proverb  says,  one  must 
make  of  necessity  a  virtue,  and  having  crossed  himself,  he 
presented  himself  before  his  Eminence.  Great  was  his 
surprise  to  find  that  prelate  most  jovial  and  pleasant,  and 
quite  ready  to  grant  his  request ;  and  that  worthy  man 
pushed  courtesy  and  amiability  to  the  extent  of  making 
him  sit  down  at  the  table  while  he  was  taking  his  break- 
fast. It  is  as  true  as  the  Gospel  that  I  have  seen  some 
democrats  more  aristocratic  than  his  Eminence  Corsi. 
He  then  called  his  secretary,  Codibb,  and  told  him  to 
have  a  whole  suit  of  his  best  clothes,  from  the  hat  to 
the  shoes,  given  to  Sighinolfi,  and  dismissed  him  with 
kindness.  I  don't  know  if  Sighinolfi  offered  to  kiss  his 
hand ;  but  even  if  he  had,  it  would  have  been  the  same 
thing,  for  Corsi  would  not  have  allowed  him  to  kiss  it, 
as  I  well  know,  for  he  would  never  allow  me  to  do  so. 
With  this  precious  bundle  of  cardinal's  clothes  he  was 


THE  STATUE  ADJUDGED   TO  SIGHINOLFL      401 

able  to  dress  one  of  our  models,  who,  although  some- 
what ridiculous,  lent  himself  admirably  to  being  dressed 
in  that  way ;  and  this  is  the  only  means  of  doing  serious 
work.  The  model  was  made  under  my  direction,  and 
exhibited  to  be  judged  by  the  Academy,  and  declared 
worthy  of  being  executed  in  marble.  So  ended  the 
difficulties  arising  from  the  light-headedness  of  a  young 
artist,  and  made  still  harder  by  the  intervention  of  an 
artist  who  was  neither  generous  nor  just. 


2  c 


4O2 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


THE  UNIVERSAL  EXHIBITION  AT  PARIS  IN  1867  —  THE  IMITATORS  OF  VELA  — 
INEDITED  MUSIC  BY  ROSSINI  AND  GUSTAVE  DORE— DOMENICO  MORELLI — 
GROUP  OF  PRINCE  TRABIA's  CHILDREN  AND  THE  THIEVES — "  STICK  NO 
BILLS"  —  THE  STATUE  OF  MARSHAL  PALLAVICINI  —  THE  EMPRESS  MARIA 
TERESA  AND  MARSHAL  PALLAVICINI  —  A  MEMORIAL  MONUMENT  TO  FRA 
GIROLAMO  SAVONAROLA — THE  UNIVERSAL  EXHIBITION  AT  VIENNA — A  TINY 
ROOM — EXCELLENT  AND  VERY  DEAR  — ON  HARMONY  OF  SOUNDS— ON  THE 
HARMONY  IN  THE  ANIMAL  WORLD — THE  HARMONY  OF  THE  HUMAN  FORM 
AS  MANIFESTED  BY  THE  INNER  BEAUTY  OF  THE  SOUL— THE  CAMPANILE 
OF  ST  STEPHEN'S  AND  CANOVA'S  MONUMENT. 


T  is  now  necessary  for  me  to  speak  of  the 
Universal  Exhibition  at  Paris  in  1867  ;  but 
first,  I  wish  frankly  to  give  my  opinion  on 
the  utility  or  non-utility  of  such  exhibitions, 
monstrous  agglomerations  of  manufactures,  machinery, 
raw  material,  food,  liquid  for  drink,  sacred  utensils, 
machines  for  war,  &c.,  all  exposed  by  the  different 
nations  of  the  world  at  the  same  time  and  in  the  same 
place.  It  has  been  said  that  this  serves  to  create  rivalry 
and  emulation  in  the  people  of  the  different  civilised 
nations,  by  placing  their  industries  in  contact  with  each 
other,  to  be  judged  by  special  men  named  for  the  purpose 
to  give  them  their  merited  reward.  The  idea  seems  to 
be  a  fine  one ;  in  fact,  it  is  so  much  too  fine  that  the 
excess  deforms  it.  On  the  contrary,  I  believe  that  all 
this  assemblage  of  things  in  an  immense  edifice,  with 
thousands  and  thousands  of  visitors,  on  one  of  the 


INFLUENCE   OF  WORLD   EXHIBITIONS.      403 

pleasantest  and  most  smiling  sites,  in  the  most  beauti- 
ful part  of  the  year,  in  one  of  the  great  metropolises 
of  the  world,  answers  admirably  to  the  economical  and 
political  aims  of  the  State  that  assembles  the  exhibition ; 
gives  an  opportunity  to  travellers  and  exposers  to  see, 
to  divert  and  enjoy  themselves,  and  make  acquaintances, 
sometimes  good,  but  oftener  bad;  brings  money  into  the 
pockets  of  intriguers  and  swindlers  in  proportion  to  their 
dexterity,  and  gives  or  increases  the  renown  of  Tizio  or 
Caio,  to  the  detriment  of  Sempronio,  in  the  opinion  of 
some  with  justice,  and  in  the  opinion  of  others  with 
great  injustice.  But  who  has  the  rights  of  it  ?  The 
rights  of  it  are  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,  and  need  the 
grappling-irons  of  time  to  drag  them  out. 

I  should  believe  in  the  utility  of  these  world  exhibi- 
tions if  they  were  by  sections — industries,  manufactures, 
machinery,  and  agriculture  —  everything  separate;  and 
separated  always  absolutely  from  all  the  rest,  in  time 
and  in  place,  the  Fine  Arts,  to  which  I  should  wish  to 
see  prizes  awarded,  not  by  a  medal,  but  rather  by  the 
purchase  of  the  work  itself,  or  if  this  be  already  disposed 
of,  by  the  commission  for  another. 

It  may  be  somewhat  useful  to  artists  to  see  the  works 
of  others,  their  variety,  and  the  different  modes  of  feeling 
and  seeing  of  their  authors ;  it  may  infuse  into  them  new 
life,  new  strength,  and  stimulate  them  to  search  within 
themselves  for  what  they  find  in  the  works  of  others : 
but  if  this  examination,  this  comparison,  this  stimulating 
fever  be  of  assistance  to  some,  to  the  greater  number 
it  is  a  stumbling-block,  and  the  cause  of  their  going 
astray.  It  is  useless  to  have  any  illusion.  The  greater 
number  of  young  artists  allow  themselves  to  be  taken  by 
the  bait  of  novelty,  only  because  it  is  novelty,  without 
being  able  to  discern  the  hidden  reasons  for  which  good 


404     THE  MILANESE  SCHOOL  OF  SCULPTURE. 

sense  and  experience  concede  or  deny  merit  to  such 
novelty.  To  but  few  belongs  the  power  of  examination 
and  criticism, — to  them  alone  who,  having  by  nature 
the  sentiment  and  cult  of  art,  exercise  themselves  by 
constantly  holding  up  the  mirror  before  it ;  for  they  find 
in  it  always  something  new  and  varied,  and  on  this 
very  account  do  not  ignore  the  reasons  and  laws  that 
willingly  give  consent  to  these  varieties  and  novelties. 
But  the  others  allow  themselves  to  be  dazzled,  and  ac- 
cept the  novelty  whatever  it  may  be,  choosing  by  pref- 
erence the  strangest  and  most  unusual,  which  for  that 
very  reason  is  sure  to  be  the  least  true ;  and  so  they  fall 
into  double  error — into  imitation  which  lands  one  in 
mediocrity,  and  into  oddity  which  has  affinity  with  error. 
As  with  both — that  is  to  say,  amongst  those  who  do  not 
depreciate  novelty,  and  amongst  the  others  that  are 
seduced  by  the  false  attractions  of  mere  novelty — there 
are  some  who  are  capable  of  appreciating  the  good  only 
so  far  as  the  means  for  being  able  to  manifest  it  is  made 
apparent  to  them.  To  these,  great  exhibitions  are  of 
use ;  but  to  the  first  named  they  are  not  of  use,  as  they 
have  no  need  of  them — and  to  the  others  even  less  so, 
for  to  them  they  can  do  harm. 

When,  now  many  years  ago,  Vela  and  others  of  the 
Milanese  school  taught  a  new  and  totally  different  way 
of  looking  at  and  treating  drapery,  flesh,  and  more 
especially  hair,  they  would  never  have  believed,  I  think, 
that  their  imitators  would  have  gone  to  such  lengths, 
and  have  so  exaggerated  that  method  as  to  have  ren- 
dered it  supremely  false,  ridiculous,  and  incomprehen- 
sible. In  fact,  things  have  got  to  such  a  pass  to-day 
that  hair  looks  like  anything  but  hair — more  like  stal- 
actites or  beehives,  salad  or  whipped  cream;  and  this 
last  the  hair  made  by  some  of  the  imitators  and  exagger- 


FRIVOLOUS  AND  AFFECTED  ART.     405 

ators  of  that  peculiar  way  of  seeing  nature  particularly 
resembles.  At  the  great  exhibition  at  Paris  one  saw 
both  master  and  scholars;  or  it  would  be  better  to 
say,  the  initiator  and  the  imitators.  Vela  with  his 
sobriety  of  purpose,  full  of  life,  here  and  there  with 
rough-and-ready  touches  as  art  and  taste  counsel,  and 
nature  and  harmony  teach — the  others,  with  little  taste, 
great  self-reliance,  and  equal  audacity,  striving  their  best 
to  muddle  up  everything  together  in  a  topsy-turvy  fashion. 
Taste,  which  is  an  individual  sentiment,  was  reduced  to 
a  system,  or  rather  a  manner ;  sobriety  was  transformed 
into  hardness,  and  a  studied  neglect  of  certain  parts, 
exchanged  for  a  systematic  and  excessive  carelessness ; 
and  on  the  contrary,  as  if  in  contrast,  an  affected  imi- 
tation of  little  folds,  bands,  lace,  and  polished  beads 
and  necklaces,  the  delight  and  admiration  of  women 
and  children,  little  and  big. 

At  the  exhibition  in  Paris,  amongst  the  fops  and  the 
milliners  this  alluring  kind  of  work  was  received  with 
enthusiasm,  because  a  novelty  always  makes  a  greater 
impression  on  the  frivolous ;  but  serious  people  of  good 
taste,  as  well  as  the  judges,  did  not  allow  themselves  to 
be  attracted  by  such  superficiality.  It  is  true,  however, 
that  they  were  too  severe  with  works  of  merit,  and  if  it 
had  not  been  that  the  limited  number  of  prizes  prevented 
them  from  being  more  liberal,  the  jury  that  I  belonged 
to  would  have  been  to  blame.  But  it  is  not  requisite 
for  me  to  repeat  here  what  I  said  on  sculpture,  and  what 
I  wrote  officially  on  that  exhibition. 

I  became  acquainted  at  that  time  with  the  best  French 
artists,  and  they  showed  me  almost  brotherly  kindness. 
I  sat  at  their  meetings  at  the  Academy,  of  which  I  had 
been  a  member  since  1863,  and  was  afterwards  raised  to 
the  rank  of  corresponding  member,  which  is  the  highest 


4o6  ROSSINI'S  HOUSE  IN  PARIS. 

honour  the  Academy  can  confer.  Although  unworthy 
to  do  so,  I  had  Giovacchino  Rossini's  seat. 

Rossini's  house  was  the  genial  meeting-place  of  all 
there  was  of  most  distinguished  then  in  Paris,  not  only 
of  the  musical  class,  but  of  the  artistic  and  literary. 
He  had  music,  and  often  sat  down  to  the  piano  and 
accompanied  his  inedited  songs.  I  remember  two  of 
singular  beauty;  one  most  sad  in  subject,  words,  and 
notes,  of  a  father  from  whom  his  little  son  had  been 
stolen.  It  was  a  lament,  refined,  delicate,  and  touching, 
and  at  the  end  of  every  verse  came  the  ritornello — "  Chi 
r  avesse  trovato  il  mio  picrino  /"  The  words,  I  was  told, 
were  by  Castellani  of  Rome.  The  other  song  was  bril- 
liant, strong,  thrilling.  It  was  an  outburst  of  love,  where 
a  Tyrolese/0</<?/was  interpolated  and  sung  by  that  brilliant 
imaginative  genius  Gustave  Dore.  Here  one  met  with 
choice  conversation,  fruitful,  instructive,  amiable,  and 
vivacious,  from  which  one  came  forth  with  the  mind 
more  elevated  and  a  greater  warmth  at  heart ;  but  .  .  . 

To  that  exhibition  I  sent  a  plaster  cast  of  my  bas- 
relief  representing  the  "Triumph  of  the  Cross,"  the 
marble  group  of  the  "  Pieta,"  and  the  model  for  the  base 
of  the  Egyptian  Vase.  For  these  works  the  great  medal 
of  honour  was  conferred  upon  me.  In  painting,  Profes- 
sor Ussi  had  the  same  great  medal  for  his  picture  "  La 
Cacciata  del  Duca  d'Atene."  Domenico  Morelli  for  his 
"  Torquato  Tasso,"  and  Vincenzo  Vela  for  his  "  Dying 
Napoleon,"  obtained  the  first-class  gold  medal,  but  they 
also  deserved  to  have  had  the  great  medal. 

A  fine  genius  is  Domenico  Morelli,  as  well  as  a  loyal 
and  generous  friend,  for  he  greatly  rejoiced  when  Ussi 
obtained  the  great  prize  for  Italian  painting:  and  I 
remember  that  he  said,  "As  long  as  there  is  the  great 
prize,  be  it  awarded  to  myself,  Ussi,  or  any  one  else, 


INFLUENCE  OF  THE  PARIS  EXHIBITION.      407 

it  is  of  small  consequence  as  long  as  Italy  does  not  fall 
behind.     Long  live  Art  and  Italy  ! " 

For  the  matter  of  that,  one  art  (I  speak  of  painting) 
was  most  worthily  represented,  and  brought  forward  a 
virgin  element — subject  to  discussion  and  confirmation, 
it  is  true,  yet  fruitful  of  good  result,  such  as  recalling 
art  to  its  fundamental  principle,  which  is  the  imitation 
of  nature,  and  relieving  young  men  from  the  conventional 
trammels  learnt  on  the  benches  of  the  Academy  (I  wish 
I  could  say  learnt  in  the  past),  making  them  breathe  a 
more  ventilated,  healthy  air,  placing  before  their  eyes  that 
infinite  variety  and  beauty  of  which  nature  is  composed 
in  all  its  parts,  in  all  its  effects,  and  in  all  its  forms — in 
the  heavens,  in  the  sea,  on  the  hills,  in  the  plains,  in 
the  forests,  in  the  animals  and  in  men — and  every  one  of 
these  things  always  varying  according  to  light,  accord- 
ing to  the  quietness  or  the  emotions  of  nature,  accord- 
ing to  temperament,  to  the  habits  of  animals  and  men ; 
all  of  which  things  are  so  well  taught  by  nature  to 
those  holding  a  constant  firm  will  to  study  her.  This 
element,  I  say,  appeared  with  but  slight  deviations  at 
the  world's  exhibition  in  Paris,  and  did  good.  It  re- 
juvenated art,  and  lifted  it  out  of  some  conventionali- 
ties, whilst  it  placed  others  in  bad  repute.  But  enough 
of  this  for  the  present ;  let  us  speak  of  something  else. 

One  of  the  reasons  that  spurred  me  on  to  write  these 
memoirs  is  this :  Allowing  that  my  works  may  with 
time  not  be  entirely  forgotten,  I  have  wished  to  register 
them  all  in  this  book,  that  it  should  not  occur  after  a 
certain  time  that  some  copy,  some  imitation,  or  un- 
known piece  of  sculpture,  more  or  less  praiseworthy 
than  mine,  should  be  attributed  to  me.  For  this  reason, 
from  the  first  I  have  mentioned  even  such  works  as  are  of 
no  great  size  and  importance,  and  will  continue  to  do  so, 


408       LIFE-SIZE  GROUP  FOR  PRINCE  TRABIA. 

excluding,  be  it  understood,  reproduction,  which  would 
carry  me  to  too  great  lengths.  •  The  Signora  Maria  Gal- 
eotti,  nata  Petrovitz,  ordered  from  me  a  life-size  group 
of  her  grandchildren,  sons  of  Prince  Trabia.  This 
group  reminds  me  of  that  most  unfortunate  robbery 
that  I  have  spoken  of  further  back,  and  this  is  why 
I  am  reminded  of  it.  In  the  closet  where  I  kept  the 
money  shut  up  that  was  stolen  from  me,  there  was 
a  little  of  everything,  papers,  designs,  tools,  books, 
medals,  and  various  little  trinkets,  that  were  respected 
— that  is,  not  taken  away,  for  they  were  scattered  about 
on  the  floor.  In  this  closet  I  also  kept  my  clothes ; 
and  for  convenience,  or  out  of  carelessness,  amongst 
other  things  I  had  left  a  straw  hat  there.  This  straw 
hat  of  mine  the  thieves  had  put  on  the  head  of  one  of 
the  little  ones  in  the  Trabia  group,  and  it  would  have 
been  really  ridiculous  to  see  the  statuette  of  that  little 
boy  with  my  great  straw  hat  hiding  half  of  his  head, 
had  it  only  been  at  another  time,  because  even  now 
(and  a  good  many  years  have  passed),  only  to  think  of 
it  —  no,  indeed,  it  does  not  make  me  laugh !  And 
to  think  that  of  those  gentlemen  thieves,  for  there  were 
several,  some  escaped  the  claws  of  justice,  and  some 
must  have  come  out  of  "  college "  by  this  time,  and 
if  by  chance  they  meet  me,  may  smile  to  themselves 
under  their  beards  at  my  simplicity.  So  goes  the 
world ;  it  is  so  fashioned,  and  has  always  been  the 
same,  even  from  the  so-called  prehistoric  ages,  and  no 
instruction,  either  more  or  less  obligatory,  will  change 
it  one  atom.  As  for  me,  when  I  am  Minister  of 
"Justice  and  Mercy"  (devil  take  it,  why  not?)  I  Will 
have  engraved  upon  all  the  comers  where  one  now 
reads  "  Stick  no  bills,"  the  eighth  commandment,  "  Thou 
shalt  not  steal ;  or  if  so,  the  whip  will  be  administered 


THE  WHIP  FOR  THIEVES.  409 

and  plenty  of  it;"  and  to  my  colleagues  in  favour  of 
progress  who  rise  up  in  arms  against  me  I  will  answer : 
"  A  little  luxury  as  regards  the  whip,  my  good  gentlemen, 
will  bring  about  great  economy  as  regards  the  prisons 
and  domiciliary  compulsion,  and  what  is  more,  will 
bring  about  a  considerable  rise  in  the  funds — of  public 
security.  But  it  is  said  the  lash  degrades  humanity. 
Perhaps  it  is  degraded  less  by  theft?  In  times  not 
very  remote,  theft  was  punished  much  more  severely 
even  when  it  was  not  a  very  grave  matter ;  but  if  it  was 
grave  and  accompanied  by  the  breaking  open  of  drawers, 
the  thieves  were  hanged  outright.  Certainly  this  pun- 
ishment was  excessive.  Draconian,  and  in  a  word  barbar- 
ous ;  and  yet,  in  those  days  Arnolfo  built,  Giotto  painted, 
and  Dante  wrote  his  immortal  poem.  Be  it  as  it  may, 
this  is  most  certain,  that  thieves  were  then  conspicuous 
by  their  very  scarcity,  whereas  to-day  they  shine  by  their 
frequency ;  and  vice  versd,  Arnolfo,  Giotto,  and  Dante 
then  existed,  e  questo  t  quanta,  as  Marchese  Colombi 
would  say." 

Count  Antonio  Pallavicini,  a  man  cut  out  after  the 
old-fashioned  stamp,  —  one  of  the  few  who  in  their 
hearts  keep  to  the  religion  of  gratitude  and  affectionate 
remembrance  of  their  dear  relations, — gave  me  the 
order  for  a  statue  of  his  grandfather,  Marshal  Pallavicini, 
who  was  in  the  Austrian  service  under  the  reign  of 
Maria  Teresa.  The  Count  told  me  an  anecdote  of  this 
excellent  grandfather  that  I  wish  to  repeat,  so  that  one 
may  see  how,  though  in  a  foreign  service,  the  heart — I 
will  not  say  of  an  Italian,  for  Italy  was  hardly  spoken  of 
then,  but — of  a  Genoese  and  good  republican  beat. 
Here  it  is:  The  Republic  of  Genoa — I  know  not  on 
what  question  with  Austria — had  become  discontented, 
and  threatened  to  resist  by  force  the  pretension  of  that 


410  MARSHAL   PALLAVICINI. 

powerful  Empress,  who,  either  because  she  was  by  nature 
careless  and  unmindful  of  public  virtue,  or  because  she 
thought  of  obtaining  a  better  result,  decreed  that 
Marshal  Pallavicini  should  move  at  the  head  of  an 
army  to  put  down  Genoese  arrogance.  But  this  brave 
soldier — this  worthy  patriot — on  coming  into  the  pres- 
ence of  the  sovereign,  took  off  his  sword,  and  placing 
it  on  the  table,  said  with  calm  dignity — 

"Your  Majesty,  it  is  impossible  for  me,  a  Genoese, 
to  make  war  against  my  own  country;  and  I  there- 
fore to-day  give  up  this  sword  that  I  have  so  often 
used  in  the  defence  of  your  empire,  that  it  may  not  be 
stained  by  the  blood  of  my  brothers."  At  which  the 
Empress  smilingly  answered — 

"  Take  back  your  sword,  that  is  so  well  suited  to  you, 
and  that  you  use  so  valorously ;  and  as  your  service 
is  denied  us  in  reducing  to  obedience  your  dear  but 
obstinate  brothers,  be  at  least  our  envoy  to  arrange  the 
difficulties  and  treat  of  peace."  And  peace  was  con- 
cluded. 

It  must  be  agreed  that  the  subject  was  a  fine  one  and 
a  worthy  one,  and  the  statue  was  made  and  placed  in 
the  cemetery  of  the  Certosa  at  Bologna ;  but  the  above- 
mentioned  anecdote,  that  I  would  have  so  willingly 
treated  in  bas-relief  as  portraying  vividly  the  character 
•of  this  personage,  was  not  given  me  to  carry  out,  because 
the  base  was  entirely  occupied  by  long  Latin  inscrip- 
tions that  the  Count  would  at  all  costs  have  engraved 
upon  it,  to  set  forth  the  whole  family  history,  and 
the  reasons  for  his  gratitude  and  the  erection  of  the 
monument. 

About  that  time  I  had  to  make  a  little  monumental 
memorial  of  Frate  Girolamo  Savonarola.  The  reason 
for  my  having  this  order  was  this, — that  in  Germany — 


MONUMENT  TO  SAVONAROLA.  411 

I  do  not  remember  in  what  town — a  monument  had 
been  put  up  to  Luther,  and  one  of  the  figures  that 
adorned  this  monument  was  Fra  Girolamo  Savonarola ; 
and  how  much  to  the  purpose,  all,  excepting  those 
good  Germans,  can  see,  for  they  know  Savonarola  as 
well  as  I  do  the  Emperor  of  the  Mississippi.  The 
promoters  of  this  work  were  Gino  Capponi,  Bettino 
Ricasoli,  Niccolb  Tommaseo,  Raffaello  Lambruschini, 
Augusto  Conti,  Cesare  Guasti,  and  Isidore  del  Lungo. 
I  assisted  at  their  meetings,  and  the  idea  that  pre- 
vailed was  to  make  the  statue  of  Savonarola  and  place 
it  in  the  cloisters  of  St  Mark ;  but  this  intention  we  did 
not  fulfil,  because  another  commission  had  already  been 
formed  with  the  same  purpose  of  doing  honour  to  Savon- 
arola, and  this  had  already  asked  for  and  obtained  the 
place  in  the  cloister,  the  more  readily  as  the  statue  was 
already  made  by  Professor  Enrico  Pazzi.  We  therefore 
had  to  change  our  project,  and  after  many  propositions 
it  was  decided  that  the  monument  should  consist  of  a 
bas-relief  and  bust  to  be  placed  in  the  friar's  cell.  This 
was  done  accordingly,  and  there  it  is  to  be  found.  The 
subject  of  the  bas-relief  is  Savonarola  before  the  Gon- 
faloniere  and  Priori  of  the  Comune,  reading  the  Gov- 
ernment statutes  proposed  by  him  for  the  Florentine 
Republic.  On  one  of  the  sides  or  flanks  of  the  bas- 
relief  is  the  youth  Savonarola  in  pensive  attitude  medi- 
tating leaving  the  world  and  dedicating  himself  to  mon- 
astic life,  and  on  the  other  one  are  represented  the  last 
moments  of  his  life  when  he  is  on  the  way  to  his 
martyrdom.  The  bust  is  in  bronze. 

Six  years  have  not  passed  since  the  honour  befell  me  of 
sitting  amongst  those  famous  men  who  wanted  this  work 
to  be  made  by  me,  and  three  of  them  are  already  dead. 
Gino  Capponi,  Tommaseo,  and  Lambruschini — they  are 


412       UNIVERSAL   EXHIBITION   AT  VIENNA. 

dead,  but  their  names  and  their  works  live,  and  will  live 
as  long  as  Truth  and  Good  are  loved  and  revered. 

In  1873  tne  Universal  Exhibition  at  Vienna  took 
place,  and  I  was  named  on  the  jury  in  the  Italian  sec- 
tion on  sculpture,  in  company  with  my  dearest  friend 
Giovanni  Strazza,  so  early  lost  to  his  family,  to  art,  and 
to  his  country,  which  he  so  honoured  and  loved.  On 
an  occasion  like  this  I  had  the  means  of  knowing  the 
clear  acumen  and  kind  heart  of  my  illustrious  colleague, 
be  it  either  in  his  judgment  on  works  of  art,  or  in  his 
intimate  relation  of  friendship  with  our  colleagues. 

I  will  not  speak  of  that  great  gay  city,  nor  of  the 
works  of  art  in  which  she  is  so  rich,  nor  of  the  Pinacoteca, 
her  galleries  and  magnificent  library  —  for  this  is  not 
what  I  have  undertaken,  and  these  are  things  that  can 
be  found  in  the  guide-books ;  and  even  if  I  wished  to 
make  some  observations  about  them,  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  me  to  do  so,  because  at  that  time  I  was 
most  unhappy  in  the  recent  loss  of  my  dear  daughter 
Luisina ;  and  therefore,  alone  and  far  from  my  family,  I 
felt  a  void  around  me,  and  a  most  vivid  desire  to  see 
them  again,  so  that  I  looked  at  everything  most  hurriedly 
and  through  a  veil  of  sadness  and  anguish. 

I  was  lodged  at  the  Hotel  Britannia  on  the  Schiller- 
platz,  on  the  fourth  floor,  up  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
seven  steps,  in  a  small  room,  even  smaller  than  that  of 
my  own  maid-servant ;  there  was  only  one  window,  and 
this  opened  on  an  inner  court.  The  furniture  con- 
sisted of  a  little  bed,  too  small,  but  soft  and  sufficiently 
clean  ;  a  table,  two  chairs,  a  wardrobe,  a  looking-glass,  a 
dressing-table — and  that  was  all.  All  this  for  the  miser- 
able sum  of  ten  lire  a-day.  I  will  say  nothing  about 
the  meals ;  but  the  breakfast,  I  mean  the  early  one  of 
coffee  and  milk,  a  roll  and  butter,  was  sixty  kreutzers — a 


MUSIC  IN   VIENNA.  413 

lira  and  a  half;  and  with  the  little  refreshment  of  ice 
in  your  water  (it  was  in  June),  twenty  kreutzers  more — 
half  a  lira.  A  cigar  was  half  a  lira,  the  washing  and 
doing  up  of  a  shirt  one  lira,  an  ice  one  lira,  and  so  on  to 
your  taste.  For  the  matter  of  that,  if  I  had  had  a  little 
of  the  good-humour  that  my  Italian  companions  Petrella, 
Boito,  Govi,  Bonghi,  Palizzi,  Mussini,  Cantoni,  Col- 
ombo, and  Mariani  had,  without  counting  Jorick,  who 
had  to  give  and  to  spare,  I  should  have  remained 
there  longer,  and  should  have  amused  myself — for  the 
city  is  really  beautiful,  most  animated  and  bright,  espe- 
cially in  the  evening,  well  lighted,  with  fine  theatres 
and  music.  Oh,  for  music,  you  must  hear  it  at  Vienna  ! 
I  do  not  mean  by  music  German  music — for  on  the 
contrary,  I  love  our  own  Italian ;  but  I  speak  of  the 
execution,  of  which  we  have  (setting  aside  exceptions) 
but  a  most  imperfect  idea.  It  cannot  be  otherwise. 
There  the  musician  has  an  assured  position.  There 
there  is  an  institute  where  he  is  trained  to  be  a  professor 
of  music — that  is  to  say,  as  far  as  execution  goes — where 
music  is  provided  for,  and  nothing  else  is  taught  During 
the  day  he  studies,  and  in  the  evening  he  plays,  and  the 
next  day  the  same  thing  over  again,  and  so  on  until  the 
day  comes  for  receiving  holy  unction.  I  defy  any  one, 
therefore,  not  to  play  well !  I  heard  one  Sunday,  at  the 
St  Stephen's  Cathedral,  music  so  sad  and  so  sweet  that 
I  was  almost  carried  away  by  it,  it  seemed  as  if  it  were 
a  sweet  and  loving  lament  of  the  angels.  These  seemed 
not  to  be  the  voices  of  the  instruments  of  this  world,  but 
a  something  superhuman,  celestial,  that  filled  one  with 
emotion.  Oh,  music  comes  directly  from  heaven ! 
The  harmony  of  sounds  is  something  of  a  more  intimate, 
secret,  and  mysterious  nature  than  the  harmony  of  lines 
and  colours ;  for  what  constitutes  the  beauty,  harmony, 


THE   CHARM   OF   MUSIC. 

and  attraction  of  exterior  things,  is  not  there  alone  in 
appearance,  but  radiates  from  the  spirit  within :  there- 
fore it  is  that  the  beautiful,  emanating  from  the  divine 
harmony  of  sound,  is  more  exquisite  and  more  living, 
because  it  is  the  manifestation  of  the  soul  and  the  spirit 
without  encumbrance.  Our  intellect  grasps  hold  of  it 
and  falls  in  love  with  it,  because  it  is  itself  also  a  part 
of  that  immortal  beauty  to  which  it  feels  an  irresistible 
attraction  to  unite  itself.  But  the  impression  of  the 
beautiful,  visible  or  invisible,  we  receive  imperfectly, 
because  the  senses  through  which  it  is  revealed  to  us 
are  only  so  fitted  as  to  enable  us  to  receive  it  in  part — 
that  part  which  gives  us  pleasure,  for  its  entire  splendour 
would  kill  us.  Harmony  has  laws  of  order  and  unity, 
and  relations  and  affinities,  inexplicable.  We  feel  that 
certain  combinations  of  notes  express  sorrow,  others  joy, 
others  love,  and  so  on ;  but  given  without  that  order  and 
unity,  without  those  relations  and  affinities,  they  express 
nothing,  and  are  only  unpleasant  sounds.  Why  is  it  so? 
Oh,  friend  Biaggi,  if  I  speak  profanely,  make  the  sign 
of  the  cross  and  correct  me ! 

The  same  can  be  said  of  all  things  that  have  form 
and  colour,  that  are  animate  or  inanimate.  There  is  in 
nature,  in  the  configuration  of  certain  parts  of  the  country 
and  certain  places,  a  something,  I  know  not  what,  of 
gloominess  and  melancholy,  that,  when  we  look  at  them, 
fills  us  with  sadness.  Others,  on  the  contrary,  are  bright, 
happy,  and  joyous.  It  is  just  the  same  with  one's 
self,  and  not  by  reason  of  the  more  or  less  fertility  in 
this  or  sterility  in  that,  nor  by  reason  of  the  state  of 
one's  soul,  but  entirely  from  the  effect  of  lines  and 
colours.  And  so  it  is,  again,  with  things  animate.  There 
are  beautiful  animals,  and  animals  that  seem  ugly  — 
some,  in  fact,  absolutely  repulsive — and  why  ?  Perhaps 


NATURE   IS   NOT  ALWAYS   BEAUTY.         415 

because    they   are   harmful?     Yet    no;    for   there   are 
most  beautiful   animals  that  are  really  bad  and  most 
dangerous — for   example,  the  lion,  the  tiger,  and  the 
leopard;    whilst    others,   as    for    instance   a   spider,   a 
mouse,   a   tarantula,   a  black   beetle,  a  worm,    and  a 
scorpion,  which  do  no  harm,  or  very  little,  seem  to  us 
so  ugly,  so  repulsive,  that  we  are  obliged  to  turn  away 
from  them.     Be  it  observed  that  this  sort  of  aversion  is 
felt  the  most  by  those  natures  that  have  the  most  ex- 
quisite feeling  and  love  of  the  beautiful  —  the  reason 
being  that  these  animals  have  in  their  form  a  harmony 
certainly  necessary  to  the  universal  order  of  nature,  but 
most   ungrateful   to  our  eyes;  whereas  the  lion,  tiger, 
leopard,   and   above   all,  the   horse,  are  beautiful  and 
attractive  to  them.     Therefore,  in  nature,  to  our  way  of 
seeing,  there  is  the  beautiful  and  the  ugly — there  are 
beings  that  attract  and  others  that  repulse  us.     "Cer- 
tainly there  are,"  I  am  answered.     "  What  sort  of  a  dis- 
covery do  you  think  that  you  have  made  ?  "     Very  well, 
I   am  delighted  with  this  answer,  because  the  above 
tirade  was  made  by  me  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
affirm  that  all  is  beautiful  in  nature, — in  fact,  their  for- 
mula is,  nature  is  beauty.      Instead   of  which,   I,  with 
what  I  have  said  and  am  about  to  say,  would  wish  to 
demonstrate  that  ugliness  has  a  negative  harmony  all 
her   own,  and   only  in    conformity  with   her  cold  and 
obtuse   vitality ;  and  therefore,  nothing  of  it  radiating 
on  us,  we  are  not  attracted  by  it,  but  rather  repulsed. 
In  as  far  as  the  animal  is  perfect  in  living  harmony, 
so  much  the  greater  the  light  that  emanates  from  him. 
Man,  who   is   the   most   perfect   of  animate   creation, 
radiates  so  much  the  greater  light  in  proportion  as  the  in- 
terior harmony  of  order,  of  justice,  and  of  love  makes  its 
impress  upon  and  forms  the  body  that  encloses  it.     In 


4i 6     ST  STEPHEN'S  CATHEDRAL. 

the  serenity  of  the  brow  one  observes  the  majesty  of 
order,  in  the  erect  bearing  of  the  person  and  the  tem- 
perate firm  use  of  words  the  dictates  of  justice,  and  love 
is  in  the  intense  calm  look  of  the  eyes  and  almost  happy 
expression  of  the  mouth,  which,  with  the  eyes,  are,  as  it 
were,  the  windows  of  the  soul,  from  which  that  beauty 
radiates  that  attracts  and  impels  to  admiration  and  to  love. 

Man,  therefore,  is  the  most  living  manifestation  of  the 
beautiful,  and  he  is  also  the  being  that  most  thirsts  for 
the  enjoyment  of  it.  He  looks  for  it  everywhere — in  the 
splendour  of  the  heavens,  over  the  expanse  of  the  sea, 
on  the  high  mountain-sides,  in  the  mysterious  shadows 
of  the  forests,  and  in  the  solitude  of  the  valleys,  when 
the  dying  sun  casts  languidly  over  them  its  violet  light. 
At  night,  when  man  and  beast  rest  after  the  fatigues 
of  the  day,  and  silence  and  quiet  begin,  he  feels  a  tender 
harmony,  delicate  and  mysterious,  as  the  memory  of 
the  days  of  innocence,  or  as  the  hope  of  a  future  life. 
The  harmony  of  night  is,  as  it  were,  the  breath  of 
sleeping  nature. 

Look,  now,  into  what  a  labyrinth  I  have  been  dragged 
by  the  music  I  heard  at  St  Stephen's  !  The  campanile 
of  this  cathedral  is  pointed  and  very  high ;  it  can  be 
seen  from  all  parts  of  the  city.  One  sees  at  once  that 
it  is  the  campanile  of  the  ecclesia  major.  I  wished  to 
see  it.  The  cathedral  is  always  the  first  thing  that  at- 
tracts the  stranger's  curiosity  when  he  arrives  in  a  place, 
because  therein  is  expressed  the  religious  sentiment  of 
the  people  who  have  built  it,  which  is  the  first  of  all  senti- 
ments, and  then  follows  that  of  the  citizen.  First  the 
cathedral  was  made  by  the  people  of  old,  and  then  the 
town-hall,  and  in  the  same  order  I  also  look  at  them  and 
think  of  them.  I  wished  to  see  it,  therefore  ;  but  being 
at  a  distance,  I  stopped  a  cab  and  said  to  the  driver  that 


CANOVA'S  MARIA  CHRISTINA.  417 

I  wanted  to  go  there.  Bravo  !  and  without  knowing  a 
bit  of  German !  I  told  him  in  three  languages — in 
Italian,  in  French,  and  in  Latin  (macaronic,  of  course) ; 
but  it  was  dense  darkness  to  him.  I  pointed  with  my 
hand  to  the  campanile  in  the  distance,  and  this  time 
he  understood  !  He  answered,  "Ja,  ja"  and  whipping 
up  his  horses,  off  he  went  for  some  time ;  but  as  we 
never  arrived,  I  again  pointed  to  the  campanile,  "fa, 
ja"  and  on  we  went,  but  away  from  the  place  I  indi- 
cated. Then  I  stopped  him,  paid  him,  and  got  out. 
On  the  venture,  I  jumped  into  an  omnibus,  just  to  leave 
the  man,  who  was  going  who  knows  where,  returned  to 
the  centre,  and  got  out  at  Oberring.  There  I  found 
a  friend,  who  took  me  in  a  short  time  on  foot  to  St 
Stephen's,  where  I  heard  that  wonderful  music,  the  re- 
membrance of  which  still  excites  me  to  ecstasy.  This 
does  not  often  happen  to  me,  but  it  does  sometimes. 

From  there — that  is,  not  from  my  ecstasies,  but  from 
St  Stephen's — I  went  to  the  Church  of  the  Augustins, 
where  Canova's  famous  monument  in  honour  of  Maria 
Christina  is.  As  to  its  being  beautiful,  I  say  nothing, 
but  an  artist  who  was  with  me  extolled  it  to  the  seventh 
heaven ;  though  to  me,  with  the  music  of  St  Stephen's 
still  in  my  ears,  it  seemed  that  Canova  in  other  works 
had  arrived  at  greater  perfection,  both  as  regards  general 
conception  and  as  regards  sentiment  of  truth.  But,  I 
repeat,  it  may  have  been  the  music  that  made  it  seem 
to  me — and  I  say  so  in  all  reverence — a  little  conven- 
tional. I  was  there  in  Vienna,  however,  to  form  part  of 
the  jury  on  the  sculpture  of  to-day,  and  not  to  criticise 
the  art  of  the  past ;  so  that  a  little  want  of  appreciation 
or  a  judgment  too  lightly  given  may  be  forgiven  me. 
For  the  matter  of  that,  Canova  is  Canova,  and  the  braying 
of  donkeys,  as  the  proverb  says,  does  not  reach  heaven. 

2  D 


4iS 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE  EXHIBITION  AT  VIENNA — WHY,  WITH  MY  ATTRIBUTES  OF 
PRESIDENT,  I  WAS  IN  SUCH  HASTE — MICHAEL  ANGELO  AND  GARIBALDI — 
A  VIENNESE  CABMAN — THE  CAMERINI  MONUMENT  —  DUKE  CAMERINI — AN 
ANECDOTE  OF  HIS  LIFE— STATUE  OF  MICHAEL  ANGELO  IN  THE  FUTURE — 
THE  CENTENARY  FESTIVAL  OF  MICHAEL  ANGELO  —  SIGNORA  ADELINA 
PATTI  — A  GREEDY  YOUNG  MAN  OF  LITTLE  JUDGMENT  —  THE  FAVARD 
MONUMENT. 


HE  Palace  of  the  Exhibition  was  built  on 
the  Prater.  It  cost  twenty  millions  of 
florins  (fifty  millions  of  lire),  without  count- 
ing, be  it  remembered,  the  sum  expended 
by  other  nations  on  their  special  buildings.  It  is  not 
my  intention  to  describe  this  immense  edifice,  and  all 
the  smaller  ones  around  it,  in  that  large  and  most  de- 
lightful Prater.  I  will  not  even  speak  of  the  Exhibition, 
excepting  only  as  regards  my  department  —  that  of 
sculpture. 

Without  expectations  or  merits  on  my  part  I  was 
elected  President  of  the  department  in  sculpture;  and 
this  honour  was  most  prized  by  me,  because  it  enabled 
me  to  hasten  on  the  work  in  our  section  with  all  the 
alacrity  compatible  with  the  number  and  importance  of 
the  works  submitted  to  our  judgment;  and  this,  indeed, 
was  not  a  trifling  matter,  for,  between  statues  and  groups, 
there  were  two  hundred  and  fifteen,  without  counting 
large  and  small  busts.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  Ger- 


UNIVERSAL   EXHIBITIONS  ARE   FAIRS.       419 

man  sculpture;  but  with  few  exceptions,  it  was  some- 
what hard  and  conventional.  Ours,  with  some  hon- 
ourable exceptions, — and  amongst  them  Monteverde's 
group  of  Jenner,  fine  in  the  choice  of  subject,  well 
grouped,  and  admirably  modelled  —  and  a  few  other 
works, — were  like  the  usual  old  woman's  tale,  trivial 
in  conception  and  ungainly  in  form.  It  is  painful  to 
say  so,  but  the  French  sculpture  at  this  Exhibition 
surpassed,  and  more  than  surpassed,  ours ;  and  if  it 
proved  possible  to  divide  the  number  of  medals  between 
the  French  and  us,  it  is  due  to  the  condescension  of 
the  French  members  of  the  jury,  Dubois  and  Masson,  to 
the  Germans,  and  to  my  obstinacy  in  upholding  our  art 
as  much  as  I  possibly  could. 

Ugh  !  these  blessed  universal  exhibitions  !  What  good 
do  they  do  to  art,  to  true  art,  to  great  art?  None 
whatever.  I  believe,  at  the  best,  they  only  bring  about 
the  sale  of  some  smart  humoristic  or  coarse  statuette, 
and  nothing  more.  I  am  aware  that  Vela's  "  Napoleon 
I.,"  which  was  sold  in  Paris,  will  be  brought  up  in 
opposition  to  this.  That  is  an  exception  to  the  rule  ; 
and  then — who  knows? — if  Napoleon  III.  had  not  been 
on  the  throne,  perhaps  Vela's  beautiful  statue  would 
have  come  back  to  the  artist's  studio  at  Turin.  Many 
fine  Italian  statues  returned  at  that  time ;  and  did  not 
the  "  Jenner  "  come  back  from  Vienna  ?  These  universal 
exhibitions — let  us  say  it  in  plain  words — are  fairs  and 
markets,  in  which  the  merchandise  most  appreciated  is 
something  odd,  humoristic,  or  ridiculous.  But  of  this 
I  have  spoken  elsewhere,  and  do  not  like  to  retrace  my 
steps. 

I  have  said  that  the  office  of  president  was  grateful 
to  me  because  it  enabled  me  to  hasten  on  the  work  in 
our  section;  but  I  have  not  given  the  reason  for  this 


420      WORK  AND   AMUSEMENTS   AT  VIENNA. 

hurry.  The  poor  artists,  the  greater  part  of  them 
strangers,  that  had  never  seen  Vienna,  felt  a  longing 
to  do  so ;  and  when  at  mid-day,  after  three  hours  of 
work,  I  suspended  the  meeting  until  one  o'clock,  they 
said  to  me,  "  Mr  President,  have  a  little  patience ; 
be  reasonable.  We  have  never  seen  anything  of  this 
city.  We  will  work  as  much  as  you  wish  in  the  morn- 
ings, but  only  let  us  be  free  the  rest  of  the  day."  And 
I  answered :  "  Have  a  little  patience  yourselves.  Let 
us  work  now  that  we  are  at  it :.  it  is  for  this  reason  we 
have  come  here.  As  soon  as  we  have  finished,  we  will 
rest  and  amuse  ourselves,  and  will  enjoy  all  the  beautiful 
objects  in  the  town  and  in  the  country;  but  now  that 
we  are  here,  we  must  stick  to  work.  Good-bye ;  I  shall 
see  you  again  shortly — at  one  o'clock."  And  with  very 
long  faces  they  went  away.  But  why,  wherefore,  all  this 
hurry — this  uninterrupted  work,  without  rest?  This  is 
why :  I  was  there  alone ;  and  when  I  am  alone,  away 
from  home,  without  one  of  my  daughters,  whatever  may 
be  the  city  or  country,  however  beautiful  and  attractive, 
everything  bores  me  to  a  superlative  degree.  When,  in 
answer  to  my  colleagues,  I  said  that  as  soon  as  our 
work  was  finished  we  would  amuse  ourselves  and  see 
and  enjoy  all  the  wonders  of  the  town,  I  repeated  men- 
tally to  myself,  I  will  take  the  fastest  direct  train,  and 
without  leaving  the  railway  carriage,  in  thirty-six  hours 
will  get  back  to  Florence ;  and  I  did  so. 

Notwithstanding  all  my  persistence,  we  took,  how- 
ever, one  or  two  half-days'  rest,  and  each  one  of  us  went 
the  way  he  liked  best  to  satisfy  his  desire  of  amusing 
himself.  As  for  me,  I  wrote  long  letters  home,  and  in 
the  evening  went  to  the  theatre,  where  they  were  singing 
(and  really  singing)  Wagner's  '  Lohengrin ';  or  joined,  in 
brotherly  symposiums,  the  Italian,  German,  Hungarian, 


DINNERS   AT  VIENNA.  42! 

or  French  members  of  our  jury.  The  Viennese  and 
Hungarian  members  gave  us  a  dinner,  and  it  went  off  in 
a  most  gay  and  friendly  fashion :  the  toasts  burst  forth, 
one  after  the  other,  in  a  bright  rapid  line  of  fire.  There 
is  no  doubt  about  it — Art  fraternises  all  nations.  Our 
speeches,  half  French  and  half  Italian  and  Hungarian- 
Latin,  were  spoken  freely,  and  without  giving  even  a 
thought  that  a  phrase  or  word  might  offend  the  political 
opinion  or  oratorical  taste  of  any  one.  Everything  was 
good,  everything  applauded,  and  we  drank  to  every- 
thing. I  remember  a  Hungarian  artist,  who,  drinking 
to  the  toast  of  Art  and  the  Italians,  said  that  Italy  had 
always  been  great ;  and  if,  in  days  gone  by,  she  had  been 
able  to  glory  in  Michael  Angelo,  to-day  she  gloried  in 
Garibaldi !  And  we  drank  even  to  this,  although  the 
comparison  seemed  to  us  to  be  very  far-fetched.  But 
I  repeat,  when  once  we  opened  our  mouth,  it  did  not 
much  matter  what  came  out  of  it.  I  also  spoke,  and 
was  applauded ;  but  if  I  wanted  to  repeat  what  I  said, 
I  should  have  to  draw  upon  my  imagination,  because  I 
don't  remember  a  word  of  it. 

We  enjoyed  other  evenings  of  feast  and  merriment, 
but  none  like  this  one.  We  were  invited  to  a  dinner 
given  by  the  Italian  General  Commissioner,  which  went 
off  most  splendidly,  but  was  naturally  more  dignified. 
We  were  all  Italians,  but  not  all  artists ;  for,  in  fact,  the 
greater  number  were  scientific  men — and  where  there  are 
scientific  men,  all  is  at  an  end,  and  seriousness  at  once 
walks  in.  The  imaginative,  frisky,  and  reckless  words  of 
the  artist  do  not  venture  to  come  out  at  such  meetings ; 
and  the  talk  there  gains  as  much  in  rhetoric  as  it  loses  in 
living  art,  sincerity,  and  unexpectedness. 

We  were  also  invited  by  his  Imperial  Highness  the 
Archduke  Ranieri  to  an  entertainment,  which  was  most 


422    AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  A  CABMAN. 

splendid,  cordial,  and  brilliant.  The  Archduke  talked 
to  every  one  in  his  own  language ;  and  if  he  expressed 
himself  with  the  same  exactness  and  propriety  to  the 
English,  Russians,  or  Spaniards,  as  he  did  to  us  Italians 
and  to  the  French,  he  is  really  a  wonderful  polyglot.  At 
this  fete  something  happened  to  me  which  proves  that 
the  Viennese  cabmen  are  more  quarrelsome  than  ours. 
This  is  how  it  was.  I  got  into  the  cab  at  the  hotel, 
and  said  that  I  wanted  to  go  to  the  palace  of  his  High- 
ness Archduke  Ranieri,  to  remain  there  two  hours,  and 
then  return  to  the  hotel ;  and  for  this  the  price  of  six 
florins  (fifteen  lire)  was  agreed  upon.  Having  stayed  my 
time  at  ihefe/e,  I  descended  to  look  for  my  charioteer. 
He  was  not  there.  To  be  sure,  the  cab  was  there,  and 
the  poor  beast  in  harness  seemed  to  be  deep  in  thought' 
or  sleeping;  but  the  coachman  was  not  there.  He  was 
looked  for  everywhere,  in  all  the  neighbouring  beer- 
houses, but  could  nowhere  be  traced.  So  in  a  rage  I 
had  to  go  up  again,  and  coming  down  about  half  an 
hour  afterwards,  I  called  him,  but  he  was  not  there. 
The  poor  beast  stood  with  his  nose  nearly  on  the 
ground,  I  do  not  know  whether  more  from  sleepiness  or 
hunger ;  and  I  in  a  rage,  as  may  well  be  imagined,  got 
inside  the  cab  to  wait  for  him.  Finally,  after  about  half 
an  hour  the  man  returned,  and  I  abused  him  roundly ; 
but  it  was  like  speaking  to  the  wall,  for  he  understood 
nothing,  and  off  he  drove.  On  arriving  at  the  hotel  I 
put  the  six  florins  briskly  into  his  hand ;  he  refused  to 
take  them,  and  I  could  not  understand  why.  The  porter 
of  the  hotel  intervened,  and  said  that  the  cabman  had 
agreed  to  wait  at  the_/2/<?  for  two  hours,  instead  of  which 
I  had  kept  him  there  three  hours.  I  explained  to  the 
porter  the  whole  thing,  and  what  a  rascal  he  was  !  But 
not  to  discuss  the  matter  any  longer,  I  paid  even  for  the 


MONUMENT   TO   COUNT   LUIGI   CAMERINI.      423 

hour  that  I  had  to  wait  that  canaille's  convenience. 
Really  I  would  have  paid  anything  to  have  been  able  to 
say  two  or  three  words  after  my  own  heart  in  German  to 
the  miserable  scamp. 

My  duty  was  now  ended.  I  gave  a  last  look  at  the 
beautiful  Schiller  Platz,  where  my  hotel  was,  saluted  the 
Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  then  building,  and  with  open 
heart,  filling  my  lungs  with  a  great  breath  of  country 
air,  I  flew  in  thought  to  beautiful  Florence,  to  my 
family,  and  to  the  studies  I  loved.  I  plunged  into  the 
most  comfortable  railway  carriage  that  I  could  find,  and 
never  again  turned  to  the  right  or  to  the  left.  I  think 
that  I  was  the  first  of  the  Italian  jury  that  returned  to 
our  beautiful  country. 

At  this  time  I  was  making  the  monument  to  Duke 
Silvestro  Camerini  that  had  been  ordered  from  me  by 
his  illustrious  and  most  noble  nephew,  Count  Luigi. 
Senatore  Achilli  Mauri  had  first  spoken  to  me  of  it 
on  his  behalf,  and  had  shown  me  a  design  by  Signer 
Gradenigo  of  Padua,  in  which  there  were  to  be  two 
statues  that  the  Count  wished  me  to  make.  The  design 
did  not  please  me,  and  I  answered  that  I  would  make 
the  monument,  but  that  I  wished  to  compose  it  after  my 
own  fashion.  The  Count  was  content.  I  made  a  design ; 
he  saw  it,  it  pleased  him,  and  all  was  settled  in  a  friendly 
way  by  a  few  frank  words,  without  all  those  precautions 
of  contract,  seal  register,  witnesses,  and  caution  that  are 
invented  by  distrust  to  protect  one  from  rascals.  It 
is  thus  that  honest  men  deal  with  honest  men  ;  and  of 
such  is  Count  Lurgi,  and  of  such  by  God's  mercy  am  I, 
and  I  can  proclaim  it  loudly  in  the  broad  light  of  the 
sun.  I  am  certain  that,  of  the  many  persons  who 
have  given  me  commissions,  not  one  has  had  any 
question  with  me,  nor  even  the  slightest  feeling  of 


424  COUNT   LUIGI   CAMERINI. 

unpleasantness  !  The  thought  of  this,  and  the  certainty 
of  being  able  to  proclaim  it  coram  poptdo,  is  to  me  a 
consolation  so  complete  and  grateful,  that  it  forms,  so 
to  speak,  my  happiness. 

Amongst  those  who  have  given  me  commissions, 
Count  Luigi  Camerini  has  been  one  of  the  most  cour- 
teous— a  true  friend.  Every  time  that  I  went  to  Padua 
or  Piazzola  on  account  of  the  work  I  was  engaged  on, 
besides  the  glad  welcome  that  he  and  his  amiable 
wife  gave  me,  he  managed  to  arrange  some  excursions 
for  our  pastime  and  pleasure — now  to  Venice,  now  to 
Passagno,  now  to  Vicenza,  and  sometimes  even  farther ; 
and  he  pushed  courtesy  .and  friendship  to  the  extent  of 
taking  us  all  as  far  as  Turin,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
inauguration  of  Cavour's  monument.  As  I  said,  to  do 
this,  besides  being  amiable  and  kind,  one  must  also  be 
rich,  and  he  is  rich  indeed.  I  remember  that  one  day, 
during  one  of  these  excursions,  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
first-class  railway  carriage  with  the  Princess  Troubetz- 
koi  and  her  husband,  Duke  Talleyrand.  We  all  talked 
together  more  or  less  about  everything — all  except  the 
Duke,  who  gathered  himself  up  in  his  corner,  with  his 
travelling  -  cap  pulled  down  on  his  forehead,  intent 
on  reading  a  French  newspaper.  He  had  never  lifted 
his  eyes  on  us,  so  absorbed  did  he  seem  in  his 
reading. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  was  that  the  conversation  fell 
on  the  heaviness  of  the  taxes.  I  am  greatly  afraid  that 
it  was  I  who  started  the  subject,  because  on  this  key 
I  am  wonderfully  eloquent ;  I  storm  about  the  laws, 
agents,  cashiers,  everybody,  and  everything. 

"  Let  them  lay  a  heavy  hand,"  I  was  saying,  "  on 
play,  on  luxury,  on  vices,  on  property,  but  leave  in  peace 
the  labour,  industry,  and  talent  that  are  the  bonds  of 


DESCRIPTION   OF  THE   MONUMENT.          425 

civilisation  and  health,  because  the  public  conscience 

rebels  against  this." 

The  good  Duke  did  not  even  move ;  for  him  it  was  as 

if  I  was  neither  in  the  wrong  nor  the  right.     My  friend 

Camerini,  perhaps  to  allay  my  indignation,  quietly  smiled 

and  said — 

"  You  are  right ;  certainly  these  taxes  are  very  heavy. 

But  what  can  one  do  about  it  ?    One  must  pay,  and  that 

is  all " 

"  Certainly,"   I    continued,    repeating    his    favourite 

word,  "one  must  pay — and  I  pay;  but  it  is  too  much 

— these  taxes  are  too  high." 

"  I  agree,  I  agree.  .  .  .  Just  imagine  that  I  pay 
annually  in  taxes  (beyond  the  indirect  ones,  you  under- 
stand), two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  lire!  " 

At  the  mention  of  this  sum  the  Duke  turned  slightly 
towards  Camerini,  looked  fixedly  at  him  a  short  time 
over  his  spectacles,  then  took  them  off  very  slowly, 
folded  them  and  put  them  in  their  case,  set  aside  his 
newspaper,  and  entered  into  a  conversation  with  him 
that  only  came  to  an  end  when  we  separated.  "  Oh  the 
power  of  gold  ! "  said  I  to  myself.  .  .  .  Let  us  return 
to  the  monument. 

It  is  composed  thus :  on  the  first  foundation  a  great  urn, 
above  which  rises  the  base,  on  which  is  placed  the  seated 
statue  of  the  Duke  in  a  thoughtful  attitude,  dressed  in 
the  clothes  he  wore,  and  wrapped  in  a  cloak.  At  the 
sides  of  the  urn,  which  form  two  semicircles,  are  two 
statues.  Beneficence  is  standing  and  offering  money  to 
a  youthful  workman,  who,  in  an  attitude  of  affectionate 
gratitude,  wishes  to  kiss  the  hand  that  with  such  loving 
wisdom  has  lifted  him  out  of  miseiy,  and  ennobled  him 
by  the  sanctity  of  labour,  so  that  this  payment  is  only 
the  legitimate  recompense  of  his  work.  This  group 


426  CHARACTER   OF   DUKE   CAMERINI. 

represents  one  of  the  virtues  of  Duke  Camerini,  who 
made  use  of  his  very  large  rent-roll  to  alleviate  the 
misery  of  his  fellow-beings,  and  give  them  encourage- 
ment and  work;  and  certainly  no  one  more  than  he 
could  feel  the  usefulness  of  work,  because  from  being  a 
humble  workman  (although  of  a  respectable  family)  he 
elevated  himself  to  the  highest  rank  of  society,  and  to 
riches  as  honourable  as  they  were  great.  Correspond- 
ing to  this  statue,  on  the  other  side  kneels  Gratitude, 
who  scatters  flowers  on  the  urn ;  and  although  gratitude 
is  one  of  the  virtues  that  adorned  that  great  man,  as  I 
shall  explain  hereafter,  yet  this  statue  refers  to  that  senti- 
ment of  affectionate  remembrance  by  which  his  nephew, 
Count  Luigi  Camerini,  wished  to  honour  the  memory  of 
his  munificent  uncle.  The  lower  base  is  ornamented  by 
a  bas-relief,  representing  Duke  Camerini  when,  during 
one  of  the  inundations  of  the  Po,  an  immense  population 
of  that  desolate  country  were  left  without  a  roof  to  their 
heads  and  without  bread,  he  rescued  them,  encouraged 
them,  and  helped  them,  giving  bread  and  work  to  all, 
ordering  the  work  of  new  embankments  immediately 
to  be  undertaken,  avoiding  most  wisely  by  so  doing 
greater  disaster,  and  saving  from  misery  and  hunger 
that  wretched  population.  This  bas-relief  is  an  admir- 
able work  of  Professor  Luigi  Ceccon,  of  Padua ;  and 
this,  as  well  as  the  execution  of  all  the  architectural  and 
ornamental  parts  of  the  monument,  Count  Camerini  and 
I  intrusted  to  him. 

The  moral  character  of  Duke  Camerini  is  worthy  of 
being  remembered  and  honoured.  It  is  certainly  not 
my  task  to  relate  his  life,  but  I  cannot  pass  by  in  silence 
a  most  notable  instance  in  it,  the  knowledge  of  which 
strengthened  the  study  and  affection  that  I  put  into 
the  modelling  and  chiselling  of  this  monument.  When 


ANECDOTE   OF   DUKE   CAMERINI.  427 

the  youth  Silvestro,  in  the  capacity  of  simple  labourer, 
worked  at  I  know  not  what  improvement  of  land  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Ferrara,  he  used  to  go  during  the 
hour  of  rest  to  a  small  eating-house  to  recruit  his 
strength  with  his  usual  temperance.  It  happened  one 
day  that  he  found  himself  without  money,  and  as  he 
was  a  daily  customer,  frankly,  with  an  honest  man's 
conscience,  he  said  to  the  host,  "  I  will  pay  you  to- 
morrow." But -this  man,  who  was  hard  and  brutal, 
answered  that  "when  one  has  no  money,  one  should 
not  order  anything  to  eat;"  to  which  the  youth  was 
about  to  reply,  when  a  young  gentleman,  who  happened 
by  chance  to  be  shooting  in  those  parts,  and  had  come 
in  to  take  some  refreshment,  seeing  the  embarrassment 
of  the  young  labourer  and  the  hardness  of  the  host, 
tossed  a  bit  of  money  on  to  the  counter,  saying  to  the 
latter,  "  Take  your  pay  for  what  this  man  has  eaten 
here."  The  host  took  the  money  and  returned  the 
change ;  but  the  excellent  gentleman  said,  "  No ;  give 
the  rest  of  the  money  to  this  youth.  He  seems  to  me 
to  have  the  air  of  being  an  honest  man,  and  he  can 
use  it  another  day  when  his  own  money  fails  him." 
It  was  not  such  a  small  matter  either,  for  the  money 
he  had  given  to  be  changed  was  a  golden  Geneva.  Then 
on  one  side  excuses  were  made  and  restitution  offered, 
whilst  on  the  other  a  mild  but  determined  insistence, 
which  ended  in  the  shaking  of  hands  and  leave-taking. 
From  that  day  forward  Silvestro  Camerini  had  no  more 
need  to  go  on  credit,  not  because  the  remainder  of  that 
piece  of  gold  could  place  him  for  ever  beyond  necessity, 
but  because  those  insulting  and  brutal  words  had  been  a 
lesson  to  him,  with  his  high  and  noble  spirit,  never  again 
to  place  himself  in  a  similar  position.  Camerini  went 
out  from  that  house  much  moved  in  spirit  and  full  of 


428  NOBLE   RESTITUTION. 

gratitude  towards  the  gentleman,  whose  name  he  in- 
quired and  ever  kept  in  his  memory.  In  the  meantime, 
by  good  conduct,  economy,  and  work,  he  was  able  to 
save  something ;  and  as  by  nature  he  had  a  mind  much 
superior  to  his  condition,  he  was  able  to  take  upon  him- 
self the  direction  of  some  works,  and  always  advancing 
in  his  activity,  economy,  and  good  administration,  he 
gradually  made  a  considerable  fortune,  all  of  which  he 
put  into  land.  But  the  noble  gentleman  who  had  so 
opportunely  helped  him,  either  through  bad  administra- 
tion, too  much  liberality,  or  some  other  reason,  lost  his 
fortune,  and  was  obliged  to  sell  all  his  lands  to  pay 
his  debts.  One  day  the  last  villa  belonging  to  him,  and 
the  one  he  cared  most  for,  was  about  to  be  put  up  to 
auction  ;  and  that  day,  so  full  of  sadness  for  him,  turned 
out  perhaps  the  brightest  and  happiest  of  his  life. 
Camerini,  who  had  already  become  rich,  bid  at  the 
auction  for  it,  and  having  obtained  it,  went  to  the  un- 
happy gentleman  and  presented  it  to  him.  His  surprise, 
joy,  and  incredulity  are  more  easily  imagined  than  de- 
scribed. He  said,  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  In 
what  way?  Wherefore?  Is  it  perhaps  a  restitution? 

So  much  has  been  stolen  from  me  that "      "Yes, 

really,"  answered  Camerini,  "  it  is  a  restitution,  but  not 
of  anything  stolen."  And  he  then  told  him,  or  rather 
reminded  him,  of  the  youth  that  he  had  benefited  so 
many  years  before.  The  worthy  gentleman  at  first  held 
back,  and  wished  to  refuse  the  gift ;  but  at  last  overcome 
by  emotion  and  admiration,  he  wept  and  embraced  his 
friend — a  true  friend  indeed,  for  all  the  others  he  had 
known  in  his  prosperity  had  disappeared  with  it. 

This  anecdote  deserves  to  be  told,  because  it  draws  to 
the  life  the  lovable,  grateful,  and  most  liberal  character 
of  Duke  Camerini.  It  was  told  me  by  Count  Antonio 


REJECTED   OFFERS.  429 

Pallavicini  of  Bologna,  the  friend  and  contemporary  of 
Duke  Camerini  and  the  other  gentleman,  whose  name, 
I  regret  to  say,  I  do  not  remember.  The  anecdote 
that  I  have  just  told,  and  many  others  that  illustrated 
the  character  of  this  great  man,  as  well  as  the  nobility 
and  generosity  of  his  worthy  nephew,  who  intrusted 
to  me  the  execution  of  this  monument,  spurred  me  on 
and  facilitated  my  undertaking. 

If  the  reader  has  a  good  memory,  he  will  remember 
that  elsewhere  I  have  spoken  of  my  offers  to  execute 
works  for  their  mere  cost — that  is  to  say,  my  proposals 
to  give  my  time,  work,  and  study  gratis  et  amore  Dei. 
He  will  remember,  also,  that  these  offers  were  not  ac- 
cepted, and  that  having  been  taught  by  so  many  lessons 
of  this  kind,  I  advised  young  artists  to  abjure  and 
chase  from  their  mind  these  Utopian  ideas  that  experi- 
ence had  fully  shown  me  could  not  be  carried  out.  To 
confirm  them  in  this  opinion,  I  must  now  add  a  new 
and  more  striking  instance  of  a  work  offered  by  me  that 
was  not  accepted ;  and  I  trust  that  the  account  of  this 
new  fact  will  not  be  wanting  in  importance,  and  will 
serve  as  a  good  lesson. 

When  my  excellent  friend  Commendator  Giuseppe 
Poggi  had  finished  the  beautiful  Piazzale  Michael  Angelo, 
and  before  the  inauguration  of  the  monument  designed 
by  him,  with  the  statues  of  the  divine  artist  himself, 
had  taken  place  (and  this  occurred  before  the  centen- 
ary), he  proposed  that  the  statue  of  Michael  Angelo  should 
be  placed  in  a  commanding  position  under  the  middle 
arch  of  the  Loggia  that  fronts  on  the  Piazzale  ;  and  it  was 
his  intention  (for  which  I  thank  him  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart)  that  this  statue  should  be  made  by  me. 
Knowing,  however,  that  on  account  of  its  colossal  pro- 
portions, as  well  as  the  importance  of  the  subject,  it 


430         CENTENARY   OF   MICHAEL   ANGELO. 

would  require  no  small  expense,  and  as  even  then  the 
municipality  foresaw  its  present  straits,  he  said  to  me, 
in  a  pleasant  and  friendly  manner,  that  it  was  his  hope, 
as  well  as  that  of  others,  that  I  would  make  the  statue 
for  its  mere  cost.  "I  am  ready,"  said  I  to  myself.  "I  like 
the  subject,  and  I  can  satisfy  my  friend  in  his  legitimate 
pride  of  citizen  and  artist,  and  also  place  there  a  sign 
of  my  veneration  for  Michael  Angelo,  and  a  testimony  of 
affection  and  disinterestedness  to  my  country,  but  at  no 
slight  sacrifice,  it  is  true — that  is  to  say,  by  working  at 
least  a  year  gratis  et  amore  Dei"  I  am  mistaken  ;  there 
is  something  else  I  should  add — that  is  the  income-tax 
and  tax  on  the  exercise  of  my  art,  &c.,  that  the  tax 
agent  would  naturally  have  insisted  on  exacting,  even  if 
it  had  been  proved  to  him  that  I  was  working  to  gain 
nothing.  But  I  had  given  my  word,  and  said  I  am 
ready ;  and  when  I  say  I  am  ready,  I  stick  to  it.  In  the 
meanwhile  time  passed,  the  centenary  drew  near,  and 
the  municipality  decided  nothing  about  the  statue;  and, 
so  far,  all  was  well — it  meant  that  they  found  it  incon- 
venient to  give  even  those  few  thousand  lire  required  for 
the  marble  and  the  roughing  out  of  the  statue ;  and 
wished  to  save  them.  About  this  I  say  nothing,  for,  in 
fact,  I  am  in  favour  of  saving ;  but  now  conies  the  best 
of  it.  When  the  day  for  the  famous  centenary  arrived,  the 
festivities  were  conducted  admirably,  with  an  exhibition  of 
all  Michael  Angelo's  works,  a  visit  to  his  tomb  in  Santa 
Croce,  to  his  house,  which  is  a  most  precious  museum, 
and,  at  last,  to  the  Piazzale,  where  the  monument  was 
inaugurated.  There  was  music  in  the  great  hall  of  the 
Cinquecento  at  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  illuminations  on 
the  great  Piazzale  and  on  the  Colli,  and  everything  was 
done  with  the  utmost  order  and  decorum,  thanks  to  the 
exquisite  tact  of  our  president  of  the  committee  for 


CENTENARY   OF   MICHAEL  ANGELO.         43 1 

organising  the  centenary  festivals,  Commendatore  Ubal- 
dino  Peruzzi.  Among  these  festive  meetings  one  was 
arranged  to  take  place  in  the  old  Senate  Hall,  which  had 
for  its  object  the  pronouncing  of  eulogies  on  the  great 
artist ;  and  to  all,  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  and  the 
Delia  Crusca  Academy  were  invited,  as  Michael  Angelo 
was  not  only  to  be  honoured  as  an  artist  supreme  in  the 
imitative  arts,  but  also  as  a  philosopher,  literary  man, 
and  poet.  This  was-  splendidly  done  by  the  two  Presi- 
dents of  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  and  the  Delia  Crusca 
Academy,  Commendatcre  Emilio  de'  Fabris  and  Com- 
mendatore Augusto  Conti.  They  were  surrounded  by 
the  members  of  these  two  Academies  united  in  solemn 
assembly,  and  the  semicircle  was  filled  by  a  crowd  of  dis- 
tinguished artists,  literary  and  scientific  men,  foreign  and 
native,  and  was  honoured  by  the  presence  of  his  High- 
ness Prince  Cazignano.  My  friend  De'  Fabris  spoke  of 
Michael  Angelo  as  an  architect,  and  my  friend  Conti 
enlarged  upon  him  as  philosopher,  citizen,  and  poet. 
They  had  begged  me  to  read  a  few  words  on  that  occa- 
sion ;  but  I,  being  aware  of  my  insignificance,  and,  to 
speak  frankly,  my  incapacity  to  think  and  speak  on  so 
great  a  subject,  at  first  refused  to  do  so;  then  I  tried 
jotting  down  something  in  writing,  and  made  my  friend 
Luigi  Venturi  read  it — and  as  he  did  not  dislike  what 
I  had  written,  I  accepted,  and  on  the  day  before  men- 
tioned I  read  my  little  scrap  of  writing,  in  which  I 
treated  particularly  of  Michael  Angelo  as  a  sculptor. 

That  day  the  idea  of  the  statue  was  again  brought  for- 
ward, and  some  of  the  gentlemen,  in  the  name  of  the 
committee,  came  to  my  studio  and  asked  me  if  I  would 
agree  to  make  the  statue  of  Michael  Angelo  for  the  mere 
cost  and  expenses.  I  answered  that  I  would,  and  added 
that  I  had  promised  to  do  so  once  before,  but  that  no- 


432      FIASCO   ABOUT   THE   STATUE  OF  ANGELO. 

thing  more  had  been  done  about  it.  In  the  meanwhile 
a  subscription  list  was  sent  the  rounds,  and  my  illustrious 
friends  Meissonnier  and  Guillaume,  who  had  come  to 
Florence  for  the  centenary  festivals,  put  their  names  down 
each  for  a  hundred  lire.  And  then,  after  all,  as  God 
willed  it,  nothing  more  was  done  about  it ;  and  in  fact,  on 
the  spot  where  the  statue  was  to  have  been  placed,  there 
is  now  a  cafe  restaurant,  very  clean  and  convenient, 
and  of  a  summer's  evening  it  is  enlivened  by  concerts  of 
a  band  of  music.  Looking  at  the  thing  from  this  point 
of  view,  it  is  certainly  much  more  comfortable  and  amus- 
ing than  to  see  a  statue  of  Michael  Angelo  standing  there. 

The  fact  is,  that  there  are  sometimes  fruitful  enthu- 
siasms and  sometimes  barren  enthusiasms :  the  fruitful 
enthusiasms  are  those  in  which  one  finds  the  quickest 
and  most  perceptible  enjoyment.  In  these  days  (it  was 
1876)  there  were  people  running  in  crowds  to  see  and 
hear  Signora  Adelina  Patti — spending  an  amount  of 
money  that  they  would  have  had  great  difficulty  in 
spending  on  an  object  less  sensible,  or,  rather,  less  en- 
joyable, such  as  in  fact  a  statue  might  be,  that  promises 
to  give  you  the  rather  meagre  enjoyment,  it  is  true,  of 
making  its  appearance  two  or  three  years  after  it  has 
taken  the  money  out  of  your  pocket. 

It  is  true,  however,  that  the  enjoyment  of  song  and 
sound  passes  in  a  moment — its  waves  die  upon  the  air, 
and  our  ears  catch  their  last  echo — while  the  view  of 
a  statue,  with  all  its  beauty  and  meaning,  remains,  so  to 
speak,  to  all  eternity.  But  this  is  a  rather  subtle  and 
abstract  consideration  that  not  all  can  understand. 

Thinking  over  it  well,  I  do  not  believe  the  fiasco 
about  the  statue  of  Michael  Angelo  occurred  for  want  of 
enthusiasm  for  art  or  statuary,  or  much  less  for  the  sub- 
ject. The  deuce  take  it !  Michael  Angelo  is  out  of  the 


FIASCO   OF   ANOTHER   STATUE.  433 

question  ;  besides  belonging  to  the  world,  he  is  a  Floren- 
tine,— and  then,  too,  enthusiasm  has  not  been  wanting  in 
any  town  in  Italy,  and  certainly  not  in  Florence,  even 
when  it  has  been  a  question  of  immortalising  in  marble 
men  oftentimes  very  unlike  Buonarroti.  Besides,  did  one 
not  see  about  this  time,  and  in  fact  during  these  very 
days,  several  thousands  of  lire  got  together  for  a  bust  of 
Gino  Capponi  ?  And  why  was  this  ?  If  I  had  asked  to 
make  that  statue,  it  might  have  been  supposed  that  the 
artist  was  not  liked,  and  that  no  confidence  was  felt  in 
him  ;  but  it  was  not  so :  in  fact  I  was  looked  for  and 
even  begged  to  make  it,  which  is  natural  when  one 
desires  to  have  work  done  for  nothing  but  the  pure  cost 
and  expenses.  Confidence  in  the  artist,  therefore,  was 
not  wanting :  there  must  have  been  some  other  reason, 
and  I  have  found  it  is  this,  that  work  asked  for  and 
offered  for  nothing  seems  almost  as  if  it  had  no  attrac- 
tion ;  no  one  wants  it.  One  must,  if  one  can,  get  as 
much  pay  as  possible.  Listen  to  this  other  instance; 
they  grow  like  cherries. 

When  I  had  made  the  "  Christ  after  the  Resurrection," 
for  which  my  good  friend  Ferdinando  Filippi  di  Buti  gave 
me  the  order,  the  idea  came  to  the  worthy  syndic,  Signer 
Danielli,  to  erect  in  his  village  (which  seemed  as  if  it 
ought  to  be  sacred  to  Minerva,  it  was  so  buried  in  a 
forest  of  olive-trees)  a  statue  in  honour  of  Professor  del 
Rosso,  who  had  been  such  a  worthy  representative  of 
science  and  of  his  native  place.  The  good  and  most 
lively  Signer  Danielli  was  full  of  ardour  to  carry  out 
his  project ;  and  to  obtain  its  success,  he  pressed  me 
to  accept  this  commission  at  the  smallest  possible  price, 
almost  for  its  mere  cost. 

I  accepted.    The  subscription  list  was  sent  the  rounds, 
and  I  know  that  my  illustrious  friend  Professor  Conti, 
2  E 


434  INGRATITUDE. 

an  old  pupil  of  Del  Rosso,  gave  himself  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  in  getting  subscriptions ;  but  neither  he  nor  any 
one  else  obtained  the  desired  result,  and  the  statue  re- 
mains where  it  was — in  the  future.  In  the  same  way, 
it  seems,  ended  the  affair  of  the  bust  of  Pius  IX.,  that  a 
pious  committee  in  this  city  proposed  to  have  cut  in 
marble  and  placed  in  our  cathedral. 

So,  as  I  have  said,  these  instances  grow  like  cherries. 
Let  us  remember,  although  above  I  have  spoken 
about  the  necessity  of  getting  well  paid,  yet  at  times, 
either  as  a  matter  of  duty,  friendship,  or  gratitude,  one 
can  and  one  ought  to  work  for  little.  I  remember  a 
young  scholar  of  mine  who  enjoyed  a  little  pension, 
given  to  him  by  a  gentleman  from  his  village,  who,  to 
enable  the  young  man  to  work  from  life,  went  so  far 
as  to  allow  him  to  model  his  head,  and,  to  encour- 
age him,  desired  that  he  should  put  it  into  marble, 
— but  before  giving  him  the  commission,  wanted  to 
know  what  the  expense  would  be.  The  youth,  in  telling 
me  this,  asked  me  what  he  ought  to  ask  for  it.  I  an- 
swered, "You  must  ask  nothing;  the  gentleman  is  over 
and  above  good  to  give  you  the  pension.  Would  you 
also  ask  him  to  pay  for  the  bust?  You  will  give  this 
answer :  I  have  asked  my  master  about  the  expense  of 
the  marble  and  the  roughing  of  it  out,  and  he  has  an- 
swered me  that  one  hundred  lire  is  necessary  for  the 
marble  and  two  hundred  for  the  roughing  it  out ;  as  to 
finishing  it,  I  will  finish  it  myself,  and  so  learn  to  work 
on  marble,  because  no  one  can  call  himself  a  sculptor 
who  does  not  work  on  the  marble  himself." 

But  the  youth  showed  no  judgment,  did  not  follow 
my  advice,  and  asked  the  gentleman  a  thousand  lire, 
and  the  avidity  and  ingratitude  thus  shown  by  the 
person  he  had  benefited  so  disgusted  him,  that  he  did 


BUILDING   ONE'S  OWN   MONUMENT.        435 

not  let  him  make  it.  When  I  heard  how  matters  had 
gone,  I  did  not  fail  to  call  him  an  ass,  and  he  really  was 
one.  Born  and  bred  a  peasant,  he  had  learnt  nothing 
in  town  by  mixing  with  educated  young  men.  He  was 
tall  of  person,  and  endowed  with  uncommon  strength ; 
he  used  to  exercise  himself — making  it  more  a  business 
than  a  simple  pastime — at  the  game  of  forma,  and, 
challenged  or  challenger,  was  always  the  winner.  He 
died  from  breaking  a  blood-vessel  in  his  chest ;  and  for 
the  matter  of  that,  as  no  one  was  left  behind  to  weep  for 
him,  for  he  was  an  orphan,  and  as  he  had  no  talent  or 
judgment,  it  was  better  so. 

Let  us  therefore  understand  each  other.  One  must 
always  get  one's  pay,  excluding  the  case  or  cases  of 
gratitude  like  the  one  I  have  mentioned  above,  and  even 
between  friends,  there  must  not  be  one  that  gives  and 
the  other  that  takes.  I  remember  now,  many  years  ago, 
that  Luigi  Acussini  made  my  portrait,  and  I  his ;  and 
later,  Cisere  painted  my  portrait  and  that  of  my  wife, 
and  I  made  a  bust  of  his  wife,  amid  cari  e  borsa  del 
pari.  Presents  don't  answer  well,  and  therefore  it  is 
rare  to  find  those  who  make  them ;  and  if  any  one  with 
heart  and  no  head  does  so,  he  makes  a  fiasco. 

A  singular  taste,  and  one  that  I  can  enter  into  com- 
pletely, is  that  of  preparing  one's  own  place  of  burial 
whilst  living ;  and  for  those  who  can,  besides  the  burial- 
place,  also  the  chapel  and  monument.  It  does  one 
good  to  see,  whilst  living,  the  place  where  one  will 
sleep  the  last  sleep.  Amongst  those  who  agree  with 
me  in  this,  besides  Marchese  Bichi  Ruspoli  of  Siena,  and 
Signer  Ferdinando  Filippi  di  Buti — whose  monuments  I 
made  some  fifteen  years  ago,  and  who  are  still  living, 
hale  and  hearty,  so  that  I  even  think  that  the  thought 
of  death  and  the  sight  of  the  monuments  prolong  their 


436  THE   FAVARD   MONUMENT. 

lives — is  the  Baroness  Favard  de  Langlade,  who  also 
wished  to  have  her  monument  made;  and  after  hav- 
ing had  the  illustrious  architect  Giuseppe  Poggi  con- 
struct the  beautiful  chapel  in  the  park  of  the  villa  at 
Rovezzano,  which  is  adorned  by  the  beautiful  paintings 
of  Annibale  Gatti,  she  ordered  from  me  the  monument 
wherein  her  body  is  to  rest. 

The  difficulty  of  this  kind  of  work  is  not  to  give 
umbrage  to  the  modesty  of  the  person  who  gives  the 
commission.  At  first  sight  it  seems  like  vanity  and 
pride  to  order  one's  own  monument;  but  besides  the 
fact  that  he  who  orders  a  monument  does  not  order  it 
for  himself  alone,  but  also  for  his  family,  the  artist  com- 
poses his  work  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  give  the  least 
offence  by  adulation  and  flattery,  which  is  the  more 
contemptible  in  the  person  who  offers  it  in  measure 
as  the  adulated  person  is  in  a  high  position.  The  artist, 
however,  who  has  a  proper  respect  for  his  own  dignity, 
and  wishes  that  of  the  person  in  question  also  to  be 
respected,  will  find  a  way  of  making  his  work,  even 
though  it  be  grandiose,  so  as  to  enable  both  him  and 
the  person  who  is  to  die  to  look  at  each  other  in  the 
face  without  blushing. 

The  subject  that  I  treated  for  the  Favard  monument 
was  the  Angel  of  the  Resurrection,  who,  poised  on  his 
wings,  offers  his  hands  to  the  dead  woman,  who  is  in 
the  act  of  rising,  to  lead  her  to  heaven.  She  has  half 
lifted  herself  up  on  the  sarcophagus  where  she  was  laid 
out,  and  her  expression  shows  her  happiness  in  awaken- 
ing to  eternal  day.  The  only  adulation — excusable,  I 
think — that  I  offered  to  that  lady  was  having  made  her 
appear  younger  than  she  was, — not  more  beautiful,  for 
one  can  still  see  that  she  must  have  been  most  beautiful. 
I  regret  that  this  work  of  mine  is  almost  hidden — first  of 


THE   FA  YARD   MONUMENT.  437 

all,  because  it  is  far  from  town,  as  I  have  already  said, 
— at  Rovezzano ;  for  although  the  noble  lady  has  given 
orders  to  have  it  shown  to  any  one  who  asks  to  see  it, 
yet  the  double  difficulty  of  the  distance  and  the  asking 
prevents  many — those  who  are  lazy  and  who  are  luke- 
warm, who  are  the  most  in  number — from  being  able 
to  see  it.  It  is  still  worse  as  concerns  my  "  Christ  after 
the  Resurrection,"  which  is  on  a  hill  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Buti,  a  little  village,  nearly  hidden  from  view 
and  out  of  hand,  between  Pisa  and  Lucca. 


438 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


PIUS  IX.  OBJECTS  TO  HAVING  ME  MAKE  HIS  BUST— I  GO  TO  ROME  TO  SEE  THE 
POPE — THE  EXHIBITION  AT  NAPLES — AGAIN  ON  IDEALISM  AND  NATURAL- 
ISM—  THE  MASTERS  OF  ITALIAN  MELODY  —  VINCENZO  BELLINI  AND  HIS 
MONUMENT — CONCLUSION. 


NARRATED,  all  in  its  proper  place,  how 
it  happened  that  I  was  not  enabled  to  make 
King  Victor  Emmanuel's  portrait ;  and  it  is 
necessary  for  me  now  to  explain  how  I  did 
not  obtain  the  concession  to  make  a  bust  of  Pius  IX. 
Marchese  Pompeo  Bourbon  del  Monte,  the  President  of 
the  Working  Men's  Catholic  Association  in  Florence,  had 
the  intention  of  giving  me  an  order  to  make  a  bust  of 
the  Pope,  to  place  in  a  niche  in  our  Duomo,  with  an 
inscription  commemorative  of  the  great  pontiffs  passage 
through  Florence,  and  his  consecration  of  four  bishops 
there.  Naturally  the  Pope  was  first  asked  whether  he 
was  willing  that  his  bust  should  be  made  and  should 
be  placed  in  our  Duomo.  With  both  of  these  proposi- 
tions the  Pope  showed  his  great  satisfaction,  and  he 
was  therefore  asked  the  favour  of  giving  some  sittings 
to  the  sculptor;  but  on  hearing  my  name,  he  refused 
to  do  so,  because,  having  made  Cavour's  monument, 
he  did  not  wish  me  to  take  his  portrait.  To  speak  the 
truth,  this  species  of  censure  on  the  part  of  the  Pope 


AUDIENCE  OF  PIUS   IX.  439 

was  most  unpleasant  to  me.  As  long  as  some  of  the 
prejudiced  journalists  of  the  extreme  party,  in  blaming 
me  for  having  executed  this  work,  assailed  me  on  the 
ground  that  some  of  the  nude  allegorical  figures  (just 
imagine,  children  of  seven !)  were  obscene,  I  let  it  pass ; 
but  the  condemnation  of  the  Holy  Father  was  a  great 
vexation  to  me.  As  Monsignore  Archbishop  Cecconi  had 
been  the  intermediary,  I  wrote  him  a  letter  expressing 
my  regret,  and  went  over  the  story  of  the  monument,  and 
how  I  had  accepted  it,  and  what  expression  I  had  given 
to  it,  saying  that  I  had  not  thought  I  was  doing  any 
harm,  and  that  I  was  extremely  pained  to  have  met 
with  the  Holy  Father's  displeasure,  and  begging  Mon- 
signore to  make  known  these  sentiments  of  mine  to  the 
Pope.  In  fact  the  Pope  heard  of  my  letter,  or  at  least 
a  part  of  it,  and  answered  that  he  had  never  doubted  my 
sentiments  or  my  good  intentions,  but  for  all  that  he  was 
not  willing  to  have  his  portrait  taken  by  me ;  and  that,  to 
prevent  the  matter  from  appearing  ad  hominem,  he  would 
not  give  permission  for  it  to  be  made  by  any  one  else. 

A  few  months  after  this,  wishing  to  go  to  Naples  to 
see  the  Italian  Exhibition,  I  stopped  on  my  way  in 
Rome,  and  saw  the  Pope,  but  not  in  a  private  audience. 
Nevertheless,  he  spoke  benevolently  to  me,  and  said, 
"  Dear  Dupre,  what  fine  works  are  you  doing  now  ? " 
I  who,  I  must  admit,  never  find  myself  embarrassed 
by  any  one,  stood  there  perfectly  nonplussed,  and  was 
not  able  to  utter  a  word;  and  that  poor  saintly  old 
man,  to  put  an  end  to  my  embarrassment,  continued,  "  I 
pity  you;  the  political  vicissitudes  and  the  noises  of 
war  distract  the  mind  of  the  artist,  and  are,  in  fact,  op- 
posed to  the  development  of  his  genius."  Then  turning 
to  my  daughter,  he  said,  "  And  you,  too :  well  done,  my 
sculptress ;  I  bless  you  together  with  your  father." 


440        EXHIBITION   AT   NAPLES — IDEALISM. 

It  really  gave  me  pleasure  to  see  him  again,  and  listen 
for  the  last  time  to  that  vibrating,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
benevolent  voice.  Something  within  me  told  me  that 
he  would  soon  be  missing  to  us;  and  in  fact,  barely 
eight  months  after,  he  died,  and  but  a  few  days  after  the 
king,  to  whom,  during  his  last  moments,  he  had  sent 
his  benediction ;  and  report  has  it  that  he  even  said  he 
would  have  gone  himself  to  comfort  the  king,  whom  he 
personally  loved,  during  his  last  hours,  had  he  not  been 
really  so  ill  himself.  These  words  of  his  gained  for  him 
the  goodwill  of  those  who  were  not  his  friends. 

Now  I  must  speak  of  the  Exhibition  at  Naples,  and 
most  particularly  of  the  naturalistic  element  that  mani- 
fested itself  there  in  sculpture.  It  deserves  being  studied 
with  attention,  so  as  to  enable  young  artists  of  good  pur- 
pose, and  for  whom  I  have  most  particularly  written  these 
memoirs,  to  acquire  something  that  may  be  useful  to 
them.  Naturally  the  vast  question  of  realism  and  ideal- 
ism rises  again  to  the  surface.  Those  who  know  me, 
know  that  I  am  neither  a  realist  nor  an  idealist,  be  it 
understood,  as  is  generally  intended  and  practised. 

Idealism,  in  my  opinion,  is  nothing  else  but  a  species 
of  vision  that  the  artist  creates  by  strong  love  in  his 
mind  when  he  thinks  of  a  given  subject.  Idealism  is 
therefore  the  idea  of  the  subject,  and  not  in  the  least 
the  idea  of  the  parts  of  the  form.  It  is  true  that  even 
these  are  associated  pleasantly  together  in  the  mind,  but 
it  is  wrong  and  false  to  believe  that  we  can  grasp  hold  of 
them  only  by  the  help  of  memory,  and  withput  having 
nature  before  us.  The  idealist,  as  I  should  understand 
him,  seeks  in  nature  for  the  models  appropriate  to  his 
idea  and  his  subject.  He  does  not  content  himself  with 
one  alone,  because  he  does  not  find  in  one,  or  even  in 
two,  the  multiplicity  of  parts  by  which  his  idea  is  com- 


REALISM.  441 

posed.  From  one  he  takes  the  several  masses  and  move- 
ment, and  will  take  great  care  in  these  never  to  change 
from  his  model;  from  another  he  will  take  the  head,  or  the 
hands,  or  other  parts  of  the  body  in  which  the  model  for 
the  general  masses  may  have  been  defective,  and  will 
be  careful  that  in  age  and  character  they  be  not  dissimi- 
lar from  the  principal  model — that  is  to  say,  the  model 
that  he  has  used  for  the  general  form.  If  he  departs 
here  or  there  from  this  simple  method,  the  idealist  will 
fall  into  academical  conventionalism,  or  into  the  vulgar 
and  defective.  Corrections  of  the  model's  defects  made 
from  memory  bring  us  to  conventionalism,  and  the 
exact  imitation  of  the  model  alone  drags  us  down  to 
the  vulgar  and  defective,  because  it  is  humanly  impos- 
sible that  one  model  can  have  in  himself,  besides  the 
whole,  all  the  perfections  of  parts  that  constitute  beauty, 
which  is  the  aim  of  art.  Such,  and  nothing  else,  is  the 
idealist ;  and  so  am  I,  and  such  has  always  been  my 
teaching. 

Now  let  us  see  the  realistic.  The  naturalistic,  to 
my  way  of  seeing,  is  simply  intolerant  of  long  study  of 
the  many  rules  and  dogmas  of  the  academicians  that 
teach  one  to  make  statues  in  very  nearly  always  the 
same  way,  with  the  same  measures  and  with  the  same 
character — be  it  a  Virgin  or  a  Venus,  a  Messalina  or  an 
Ophelia,  and  so  on.  He  is  in  love  with  his  own  subject, 
and  wishes  to  give  it  expression  in  its  true  character  and 
with  its  own  individual  expression,  and  even  with  those 
particularities  and  imperfections  that  distinguish  it  from 
others.  Bartolini  did  so  in  his  "Ammostatore,"  in  his 
"  Putti "  for  Demidoff's  table,  and  in  almost  all  his  works; 
and  so  did  Vela  with  his  "  Napoleon  I."  and  his  "  Deso- 
lazione " ;  and  lastly,  although  in  a  much  more  minute 
manner,  did  Magni  with  his  "  Reading  Girl " ;  and  up  to 


442  NATURALISTS   AND   IDEALISTS. 

this  point  I  am  naturalistic,  and  stand  up  for  it.  But  in 
these  days  there  is  another  species  of  naturalistics — better 
call  them  realistics — who  love  truth  and  nature  to  the 
extent  of  accepting  even  the  ugly  and  bad  in  form  and 
the  useless  and  revolting  in  idea.  And  truly  here  I  am 
neither  with  them,  nor  can  I  advise  any  one  to  hold  in 
esteem  this  school,  that  I  should  rather  be  inclined  to 
call  the  hospital  or  sewer  of  art.  But  what  I  have  said 
so  far  is  enough,  for  elsewhere  I  have  touched  upon  the 
same  subject,  and  do  not  want  to  repeat  myself,  but 
only  to  mention  the  question  again,  because  at  the 
great  show  in  Naples  the  naturalistic  school  appeared  in 
sculpture  in  all  its  audaciousness,  and,  I  must  frankly 
say,  in  all  its  power,  worthier  of  a  better  cause  and  better 
intentions ;  and  this,  it  is  presumably  to  be  hoped,  may 
be  at  last  more  easily  recognised  by  the  young  men  who 
look  for  the  truth,  even  wallowing  in  ugliness,  than  from 
those  who  fill  their  heads  with  the  idea  of  looking  for 
the  beautiful  in  their  memory  and  conventionalism. 
From  this  it  is  evident  that  I  have  a  predilection  for  the 
naturalist  who  caresses  an  idea  and  the  idealist  who  is  a 
faithful  and  not  a  timid  friend  of  truth.  The  artist  is 
not  a  servile  copyist  of  nature — of  ugly  nature ;  not  the 
imitator  of  statues,  even  though  they  are  beautiful ;  not 
the  slave  of  the  name  and  teaching  of  the  masters,  ancient 
and  modern. 

I  like  the  artist  to  be  free  in  his  imaginations,  free  in 
his  feeling,  free  in  his  way  of  expressing  himself  and  in 
his  method,  but  yet  strongly  and  tenaciously  bound  to 
nature  and  the  beautiful.  By  this  means  we  could  have 
more  good  artists  and  fewer  mediocre  ones ;  but  as 
long  as  there  is  official  teaching  it  is  useless  to  hope 
for  it.  Government  schools,  in  spite  of  the  difficulty  of 
admission  and  advancement  from  one  class  to  another, 


INFLUENCE  OF  ACADEMIC  TEACHING.   443 

will  always  have  too  many  scholars,  amongst  whom 
some — the  very  few,  those  who  are  really  destined  by 
nature  for  art — will  have  lost  too  much  time  in  long 
academic  courses ;  the  others,  the  many,  will  have  lost 
it  entirely,  because  it  is  difficult  with  official  teaching 
for  any  graduate  to  be  expelled  from  school  on  account 
of  tardy  development  or  want  of  talent. 

I  do  not  say,  indeed,  that  young  men  ought  not  to 
study,  or  ought  to  study  only  a  little.  Quite  the  con- 
trary. They  ought  to  study  very  much — study  always ; 
but  with  freedom — perfect  freedom  in  their  way  of  seeing 
and  feeling  and  expressing  the  multiformity  of  nature ; 
and  as  this  freedom  does  not  and  cannot  exist  in  official 
teaching,  young  men  ought  to  select  a  master  after  their 
own  taste.  Certainly  masters  who  do  not  belong  to 
these  academies  will  accept  but  few  scholars,  and  will 
retain  still  fewer — that  is  to  say,  the  best,  those  who  give 
promise  of  succeeding — and  the  rest  they  will  send  away. 
And  here  is  the  great  gain,  because  the  minor  arts — 
subsidiary,  so  to  speak,  to  the  fine  arts,  will  take  pos- 
session of  these  young  men,  who,  instead  of  becoming 
mediocre  artists,  will  become  good  workmen.  Official 
teaching  in  the  fine  arts  ought  to  be  confined  to 
architecture ;  in  fact,  there  it  ought  to  be  amplified  by 
the  study  of  mathematics,  engineering,  and  its  mechanical 
application.  The  purse  and  the  safety  of  citizens  must 
surely  be  protected. 

This  little  digression  on  teaching,  which  I  have  else- 
where treated  more  at  length,  has  sprung  up  and  been 
jotted  down  here  after  having  seen  the  exhibition  of  the 
works  of  art  of  the  Neapolitan  school.  I  say  the  school, 
and  not  the  academy — I  should  better  say  the  grades  of  the 
naturalistic  school  of  Neapolitan  sculpture.  It  is  un- 
deniable that  various  works  in  sculpture,  exposed  to  the 


444  SIGNOR   D'ORSI'S  PARASITES. 

solemn  trial  of  the  Neapolitan  Exhibition,  show  that  the 
young  sculptors  have  emancipated  themselves  outright 
from  the  trammels  of  academical  teaching,  and  have 
entered  with  full  sails  into  the  interminable  sea  of  na- 
ture. This  sea  is  beautiful,  full  of  agitation  and  life, 
and  in  its  greatness  rouses  the  desire  of  research  into 
the  unknown  ;  and  to  him  who  navigates  therein  with 
strength  and  purpose,  promises  unknown  lands,  rich  in 
supreme  beauty.  But  it  is  easy  enough,  by  steering  one's 
boat  badly,  or  missing  one's  direction,  to  get  stranded  or 
dashed  to  pieces  against  the  rocks. 

Signer  d'Orsi  exposed  a  group  in  plaster  representing 
the  Parasites.  Nothing  could  have  been  better  im- 
agined than  those  two  (I  don't  know  how  to  call  them) 
creatures.  Brutified  by  food  and  wine,  they  sleep  or 
drowse  on  a  trichinium,  leaning  against  each  other. 
They  are  a  literal  imitation ;  and  in  this  is  all  the 
merit  of  the  work.  It  is  not  minute  imitation,  that 
battle-horse  of  small  minds,  but  really  the  true  expres- 
sion of  the  conception  and  intention  of  the  artist;  but 
the  idea  is  hideous,  enormously  hideous,  so  that  to 
many  it  appeared  disgusting  and  revolting;  and  I  felt 
on  looking  at  the  work  two  opposite  feelings — one  that 
drove  me  from  it,  and  another  that  kept  me  fixed  to 
the  spot.  The  ugliness  of  the  subject  and  its  forms 
repelled  me ;  the  knowledge  and  art  by  which  it  was  ex- 
pressed attracted  me,  and  forced  me  to  admire  the  talent 
of  Signor  d'Orsi.  "  This  man,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  has  not 
come  out  of  the  academy ;  he  is  looking  for  a  passage 
through  the  vast  sea  of  nature,  and  a  shore  to  land  on. 
Will  he  find  it?" 

A  group  in  plaster  of  "  Cain  and  his  Wife  "  is  the  sub- 
ject exhibited  by  Signor  Giov.  Battista  Amendola.  Con- 
sidered from  the  point  of  view  of  expression,  it  is  of 


AMENDOLA'S  "CAIN  AND  HIS  WIFE."     445 

wonderful  truthfulness.  This  man,  guilty  of  fratricide, 
cursed  by  God,  stands  there  transfixed  to  earth ;  the 
anguish  that  oppresses  him  overcomes  his  arrogance; 
and  not  even  the  sweet  words  and  caresses  of  his  com- 
panion are  able  to  appease  that  sullen  brow  and  ferocious 
look.  But  Signer  Amendola,  who  has  so  well  entered 
into  the  human  sentiment  of  passion,  pain,  and  rage  that 
agitates  the  heart  and  upsets  the  mind,  has  made  a  mis- 
take in  the  physical  character  that  he  has,  with  intention, 
given  his -figure.  For  since  Cain  and  his  wife  are  of  a 
savage  ugliness,  more  resembling  the  family  of  the  orang- 
outang than  the  human  being,  he  seems  to  be  a  follower 
of  Darwin's  theories,  which,  if  they  are  desolating  as  re- 
gards science  and  human  dignity,  are  absolutely  revolt- 
ing when  represented  in  art.  The  truth  is,  that  I  think 
the  primitive  type  of  our  race,  although  fierce  and  un- 
cultivated, was  much  more  beautiful  than  it  appears 
to-day  in  our  young  men  and  young  girls,  who  are  with 
difficulty  built  up  by  preparation  of  iron  and  sea-baths. 
Then  beauty  was  undoubtedly  coupled  with  vigour  and 
strength;  but  bad  habits,  mistaken  education,  effeminacy, 
and  vice,  have  so  diminished  its  vigour  and  physical 
beauty,  that  if  one  desired  nowadays  to  make  a  "  Cain," 
an  "  Abel,"  or  an  "  Adam,"  it  would  be  difficult  to  find 
amongst  our  young  men  a  model  who  even  distantly 
resembled  them  in  their  splendid  strong  beauty.  It  is 
also  strange  and  absurd  to  look  for  them  amongst  the 
savages  of  New  Zealand.  I  admire  Signor  Amendola's 
strength  of  conception  and  expression,  but  I  blame  his 
application  of  it  in  the  selection  of  his  types.  He  also  is 
an  artist  that  does  not  seem  to  be  an  academical  student ; 
and  if  to  originality  of  subject  and  truth  of  expression,  of 
which  he  has  given  proof  in  his  group  of  "  Cain  and  his 
Wife,"  he  adds  study  and  love  in  the  research  of  the 


44-6  TYPE  OF  CAIN. 

beautiful  in  nature,  he  will  get  on  and  be  an  artist,  and 
what  counts  more,  an  original  artist,  but  otherwise  he 
will  not.  To  make  Cain,  and  even  his  wife,  one  must  not, 
therefore,  look  for  a  model  amongst  the  anthropophagi  or 
amongst  the  young  men  who  live  between  Doney's  and 
the  Piazza,  del  Duomo.  First  of  all,  the  type  of  such  a 
subject,  like  any  other,  must  be  clearly  in  the  mind  of 
the  artist,  and  then,  with  a  great  deal  of  study  and  love, 
he  must  seek  for  it  in  nature,  abandoning  in  part  or  en- 
tirely those  places  where  such  types  have  no  existence. 

When  I  made  my  "  Cain,"  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
find  the  model  without  the  slightest  difficulty ;  and  the 
model  I  used  was  a  strong  and  beautiful  man,  and  what 
was  more,  he  had  feeling  for  action  and  expression,  so 
that  I  copied  him  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  without  even 
giving  a  thought  to  the  classical  style  so  much  recom- 
mended by  Academicians,  although  not  copying  with 
servility  all  the  little  accidents  of  veins,  wrinkles,  and  so 
forth  (nowadays  some  people  even  imitate  the  corns  and 
glands).  I  answered  the  Signora  Laura  Bianchi  of  Siena 
in  these  same  words,  or  something  like  them,  when  she 
asked  me,  at  the  instance  of  Thorwaldsen,  who  was  in 
intimate  relations  with  the  family,  and  made  the  monu- 
ment to  her  husband,  Cavaliere  Giulio,  what  style  I  had 
used  in  making  that  statue,  which  he  had  not  yet  seen. 
Later  I  became  personally  acquainted  with  this  distin- 
guished artist,  at  a  ball  in  Casa  Larderel  at  Leghorn,  in 
1845,  and  explained  this  by  word  of  mouth,  modifying 
my  expression,  because  dignity  of  name  and  years  must 
ever  be  respected  by  young  men,  and  he  being  an  Aca- 
demician, might  have  been  offended  by  the  harshness  of 
my  words  on  the  classical  style. 

I  will  continue  my  examination  of  the  naturalistic 
Neapolitan  sculpture.  Signor  Raffaele  Belliazzi  exhibited 


WORKS   OF   SIGNOR   BELLIAZZI.  447 

a  group  in  plaster,  representing  the  Approach  of  a  Storm, 
and  a  sleeping  Calabrian,  each  the  size  of  life.  In  these 
works  the  artist  shows  a  real  sentiment  for  truth  in  the 
expression  of  the  woman  holding  the  little  girl  firmly  by 
the  hand,  both  of  them  with  their  heads  bent  down,  eyes 
tightly  shut  to  avoid  the  sand  that  the  wind  is  blowing 
with  great  force  into  their  faces — their  quick  step  and 
close  clinging  garments  blown  about  them,  showing  the 
violence  of  the  wind  and  approach  of  the  storm.  It  is, 
if  you  will,  a  common  subject,  not  very  attractive,  and 
at  best  more  suitable  to  be  rendered  in  small  propor- 
tions than  in  life-size ;  for  nothing  that  has  great  move- 
ment and  lightness  of  touch  can  well  be  reproduced  in 
large  size  in  statuary.  Now  there  is  nothing  more  full 
of  movement  than  clothes  blown  about  by  the  wind ;  the 
eye  can  hardly  see  them,  much  less  retain  an  impression 
of  them,  and  therefore  the  artist  is  obliged  rather  to 
indicate  them  as  they  possibly  might  be,  than  definitively 
or  accurately  to  reproduce  them,  as  he  should  in  a  large 
work.  I  repeat,  these  momentary  impressions  are  ex- 
cusable, and  may  even  succeed  in  being  praiseworthy,  if 
they  limit  themselves  to  expression  in  small  figures  with 
rapid  touches,  after  the  manner  of  a  sketch  ;  but  in  great 
dimensions  they  are  not.  The  other  work  of  Signer  Bel- 
liazzi,"  The  Sleeping  Calabrian,"  is  a  very  beautiful  study 
from  life,  most  accurate  and  pleasing.  Signer  Belliazzi 
is  of  the  naturalistic  school ;  he  loves  nature,  but  he 
does  not  feel,  or  does  not  care  to  devote  his  thought  to, 
what  there  is  in  nature  of  choice,  attractive,  and  great, 
be  it  either  in  conception  or  in  form.  It  is,  however, 
also  true  that  neither  of  his  works  can  be  put  down  as 
bad  and  ugly. 

One  who  loves,  feels,  and  reproduces  nature  with  re- 
finement and  grace,  seems  to  me  to  be  Signer  Constan- 


44-8  NEAPOLITAN   SCULPTURE. 

tino  Barbella,  as  it  is  shown  in  his  little  terra  cotta  group 
called  "A  Love  Song."  It  consists  of  three  young  girls 
singing  as  they  walk  along,  their  arms  interlacing  each 
other.  They  are  dressed  in  the  rich  and  peculiar  cos- 
tume of  the  Abruzzi  mountains;  and  this  dress  on  these 
figures,  so  young  and  so  beautiful,  flexible  and  lifelike  in 
their  movement  of  walking,  the  joy  expressed  in  their 
faces  for  the  charm  and  virtue  of  song,  make  an  admir- 
able composition  which  one  can  look  at  with  ever  new 
pleasure.  Here  the  small  size  of  the  figures,  and  the 
material  in  which  they  are  made,  is  all  forgotten,  and  it 
seems  as  if  one  could  hear  the  song, — the  very  breath 
and  joy  of  those  young  girls.  This  peaceful  work  seems 
to  be  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Neapolitan  natural- 
istic school,  and  in  this  measure  I  like  the  naturalistic. 

The  study  of  nature,  so  felt  and  understood,  draws  the 
artist  nearer  to  the  ideal  conception — that  is  to  say,  to 
the  reproduction  of  beautiful  nature  in  all  its  most  varied 
forms ;  it  opens  the  mind  to  ideas  and  serious  thoughts 
of  loveliness  and  grace,  for  which  Phidias,  Giotto, 
Orgagna,  and  Michael  Angelo  were  celebrated,  and  will 
remain  so  to  the  end  of  the  world.  The  study  of  the 
material  imitation  of  nature,  especially  when  it  is  defec- 
tive and  ugly  in  conception  and  form,  besides  rendering 
these  particular  statues  disagreeable,  drives  the  artist 
away  from  the  ideal  conception  of  monumental  works, 
to  which  sculpture  should  be  specially  devoted.  The 
design  for  the  monument  to  Salvator  Rosa,  the  work  of 
Signor  d'Orsi  and  Signer  Frauceschi,  go  to  prove  the 
truth  of  my  assertion. 

These  few  words  on  Neapolitan  sculpture  are  said  to 
prove  how  much  and  how  far  the  naturalistic  school  is  to 
be  accepted;  and  I  have  selected  these  examples  be- 
cause in  them  are  demonstrated  the  power,  audacity,  and 


BELLINI.  449 

error,  as  well  as  the  beginning  of  a  healthy  and  fruitful 
innovation,  provided  it  be  upheld  and  sustained  by  the 
sentiment  of  the  beautiful. 

Delightful  Naples,  rich  in  vineyards  and  orange-trees, 
with  her  splendid  sky  and  enchanting  sea,  in  which  the 
city  mirrors  itself,  and  ever  rejoices  and  sings,  recalls  to 
my  mind  the  beautiful  school  of  Italian  melody  of  Scar- 
latti, Pergolesi,  and  Bellini.  Bellini,  a  name  beloved 
and  venerated  by  all  who  value  beautiful  melody — whose 
song  is  so  passionate  and  graceful,  expressing  in  its 
suave  sweetness  passion  and  love,  rage  and  remorse, 
and  creating  dramatic  situations  from  the  very  notes 
themselves,  more  than  from  the  words ;  Bellini,  a  master 
without  pedantry  or  artifice,  clear  without  being  com- 
mon, profound  without  being  abstruse,  and  really  of  the 
future  (because  I  believe  that  both  thought  and  ears 
will  soon  be  tired  of  being  obliged  to  listen  too  atten- 
tively to  catch,  here  and  there,  rari  nantes  in  gurgite  vasto 
some  half  phrase  obscure  and  slegato) ; — Bellini,  I  say, 
who  is  indeed  a  great  man,  is  soon  to  have  a  monument 
erected  to  him. '  This  monument  was  to  have  been  made 
by  me,  and  God  only  knows  how  willingly  I  would  have 
worked  to  have  made  a  statue  of  that  graceful  and  strong 
genius  !  That  work,  however,  has  fallen  into  excellent 
hands;  for  Giulio  Monteverde,  whom  I  love  and  esteem, 
is  to  be  the  fortunate  artist. 

But  if  I  am  glad  that  this  important  and  most  sympa- 
thetic work  has  fallen  into  good  hands,  I  am  none  the 
less  sorry  not  to  have  it  to  do  myself,  the  more  so  that 
the  way  it  was  taken  from  me  seems  inexplicably  strange. 
This  is  how  it  was.  Some  years  back  I  had  a  commis- 
sion from  Marchese  del  Toscano,  of  Catania,  to  make 
the  bust  of  the  Maestro  Pacini.  At  that  time  I  was  also 
asked  by  the  same  Marchese,  who  was  then  syndic  of 

2  F 


450  THE   MONUMENT  TO   BELLINI. 

the  town,  if  I  would  be  willing  to  make  a  great  monu- 
ment to  Bellini,  that  the  city  and  province  proposed  to 
put  up  to  their  great  fellow-townsman.  Naturally  I  met 
such  a  request  with  pleasure,  although  it  was  accom- 
panied by  considerations  of  economy  that,  whilst  they 
were  not  in  the  least  to  diminish  the  grandioseness  of 
the  monument,  in  view  of  the  place  where  it  was  to  be 
erected,  and  the  dignity  of  the  subject,  led  him  to 
suppose  (and  in  this  the  worthy  gentleman  was  not  mis' 
taken)  that  the  artist  would  have  to  be  discreet  in  his 
demands,  so  as  to  facilitate  the  work  of  the  organising 
committee.  I  answered  as  a  disinterested  artist  who 
was  desirous  of  doing  the  work  should.  "Tell  me 
the  sum  at  your  disposal,  indicate  the  size  of  the  place 
where  you  wish  to  erect  the  monument,  and  I  shall 
make  you  a  sketch  for  it  which,  I  hope,  will  give  you 
satisfaction;  for  I  shall  not  look  in  the  least  to  my 
interest,  as  this  great  man  is  so  dear  to  me,  and  I 
highly  approve  the  idea  you  have  had  of  doing  him 
honour." 

In  the  meanwhile  things  proceeded  very  slowly ;  the 
sums  of  money  collected  were  not  sufficient  to  make  the 
monument  of  the  proposed  size,  and  to  this  effect  they 
wrote  me  after  some  time  had  passed ;  when  at  last, 
one  fine  day,  a  letter  arrived  from  the  secretary  of  the 
municipality,  saying  that  the  sum  had  been  collected 
for  the  Bellini  monument,  that  the  municipality  in- 
tended at  once  to  have  the  work  begun,  and  that,  with 
this  object  in  view,  the  syndic  would  soon  forward  the 
order  of  the  commission  to  me.  Naturally,  I  looked  for 
the  letter  from  the  syndic,  which  did  not  keep  me  long 
waiting;  but  I  leave  it  to  the  reader  to  judge  of. 

The  Marchese  del  Toscano  was  at  that  time  no  longer 
syndic  of  Catania,  and  in  his  stead  there  was  another, 


MONTEVERDE.  451 

whose  name  I  do  not  remember;  for  I  have  the  good  for- 
tune to  forget  the  names  of  those  who  treat  me  badly, 
and  so  bear  them  no  resentment.  I  say  this  merely  for 
the  sake  of  truth,  that  no  one  may  suppose  me  possessed 
of  a  virtue  that  I  have  not.  I  have  read  somewhere, 
but  I  do  not  remember  where,  that  the  person  offended 
engraves  in  porphyry  the  name  of  the  offender,  and 
the  nature  of  the  offence ;  whilst  on  the  other  side  it  is 
but  traced  in  the  sand,  that  the  slightest  breath  of  wind 
cancels.  This  may  be  true ;  but  as  regards  me,  I  must 
confess  candidly  that  the  very  reverse  occurs :  and  I 
thank  God  for  it,  and  so  live  on  most  happily,  and  my 
blood  gains  in  colour  and  vitality  every  day  that  I  grow 
older. 

Here  is  the  sense,  if  not  the  very  text,  of  the  Signer 
Sindaco's  letter :  "  It  is  some  days  since  my  secretary 
wrote  to  you,  to  ask  if  you  would  accept  the  order  for 
Bellini's  monument  for  this  city.  It  must  be  finished 
in  eighteen  months.  Answer  at  once,  for  I  have  no  time 
to  lose,  and  otherwise  we  shall  appeal  to  Monteverde." 
One  cannot  deny  that  this  epistolary  style  is  of  an 
enviable  brevity  and  clearness.  I  answered  that  I  had 
received  the  letter  from  the  secretary,  but  as  he  had 
announced  to  me  that  the  syndic  himself  would  write, 
I  had  waited  for  this  letter  so  as  not  to  have  to  answer 
both,  because  I  also  had  no  time  to  lose.  I  said  that 
I  could  not  accept  under  such  close  conditions,  and  with 
such  limited  time ;  and  as  to  appealing  to  Monteverde, 
he  did  well,  as  he  was  a  most  talented  artist,  but  I 
doubted  whether  even  he  could  accept  for  the  same 
reason — want  of  time.  Monteverde  was  given  five  years' 
time,  and  the  price  increased  not  a  little  from  what  was 
proposed  to  me.  My  best  wishes  to  the  artist  are  that 
he  may  be  well  inspired  and  make  an  excellent  work; 


452  THE   END   OF   MY   MEMOIRS. 

that  the  good  Catanese  may  have  reason  to  be  satisfied 
with  their  way  of  proceeding ;  and  that  the  monument 
to  Vincenzo  Bellini  may  in  its  lines  recall  the  passionate 
phrases  of  melody  of  the  divine  master. 

Here  my  memoirs  come  to  an  end.  Those  who  have 
followed  me  with  open  trusting  minds,  know  me  as  if 
they  had  been  with  me  from  a  child.  They  know  my 
humble  origin  ;  they  remember  my  early  years  when  I 
wandered  here  and  there  with  my  father  in  search  of 
work  he  found  little  of,  and  that  with  difficulty  ;  my 
attempts  to  study,  to  satisfy  an  inward  yearning  that 
I  knew  not  how  to  appease ;  the  difficulties  in  my  posi- 
tion of  satisfying  that  craving ;  the  efforts  that  I  made 
to  content  it,  and  the  dangers  to  which  a  quick  nature 
abandoned  to  itself  is  exposed.  They  have  learnt  how  I 
chose  for  my  companion  a  young  girl  as  judicious  and 
good  as  she  was  gentle  and  beautiful,  who  was  my  pro- 
vidence and  my  angel,  the  educator  of  the  family,  and 
an  example  of  temperateness,  patience,  and  faith  to  me 
(who  am  so  intolerant  and  easily  angered),  and  whose 
loss  I  feel  even  more  heavily  to-day,  when  I  think  that 
by  God's  mercy  I  could  now  have  made  her  life  more 
peaceful  and  easy. 

I  wished  to  explain  my  principles  on  questions  of  art, 
on  teaching,  and  on  the  relations  that  the  young  artist 
has  with  his  colleagues,  with  his  masters,  and  with  his 
subjects.  I  wished  to  prove  that  justice  and  temper- 
ance, in  judging  and  sentencing  works  of  art,  are  the 
foundation  of  urbane  and  friendly  artistic  life. 


INDEX. 


AGOSTINI,  RAFFAELO,  333. 
Ala-Ppnzoni,  Marchese,  193  et  seq. 
Albert!,  Dr,  205,  362,  390. 
Albertini,  Augusta,  of  Verona,  386. 
Aleardi,  161,  162,  377,  386. 
Aloysio  Juvara,   Tommaso,   215,   243, 

364- 

Altamura,  368. 

Amendola,  Giov.  Battista,  444. 
Ammanati,  Gaetano,  8. 
Angelico,  Fra  Giovanni,  170. 
Angelini,  Cavaliere,  227,  368. 
Angelo,  Michael,  170. 
Antoinetta,  Princess,  of  Naples,  36. 
Ara,  Carlo,  of  Palermo,  141,  note. 
Arcangeli,  Giuseppe,  139,  154. 
Arese,  Count,  197. 
Arrivabene,  Count,  307. 
Augusta,  Princess,  180. 

Baccani,  26. 

Baccio  d'Agnolo,  181. 

Balzico,  the  sculptor,  215,  227. 

Barbella,  Constantino,  447. 

Barbetti,  Angelo,  9. 

Hardi,  the  rougher-out,  393. 

Bargagli,  Cavaliere  Luigi,  208. 

Barili,  181. 

Bartolini,  66,  71,  79,  80,  96,  97,  99,  too, 

106,  116,  117,  118,  119,  120,  132,  143, 

144,  148,  157,  158,  184,  185,  186,  193, 

261,  346,  349,  361,  441. 
Barzellotti,  Dr,  205. 
Batelli,  331. 
Bazzanti,  22 
Beauharnais,  Prince,  Viceroy  of  Italy, 

112. 

Becheroni,  Enea,  89. 
Belliazzi,  RafTaele,  446. 
Bellini,  449. 
Bendini,  Dr,  390. 

Benericetti-Talenti,  Giovanni,  261. 
Benino,  Count  F.  del,   107,   113,    114, 

130. 
Benvenuti,  66. 


Benvenuti,  Professor  Pietro,  94,  96, 100, 

104,  348. 

Bernini,  260,  377. 
Bertoli,  58. 

Bezzupli,  Professor,  342,  348. 
Biaggi,  414. 
Bianchi,  Carlo,  132. 
Bianchi,  Cavaliere  Giulio,  199. 
Bianchi,  Laura,  of  Siena,  132,  446. 
Bianchi,  Luigi,  132. 
Bianchini,  Romualdo,  160. 
Bianciardi,  Bartolommeo,  21,  62,  100. 
Bichi-Ruspoli,     Marquis     Alessandro, 

.133.  354,  4,35- 

Biraboni,  Giovacchino,  307. 
Bini,  Carlo,  315. 

Bonaini,  Commendatore  Francesco,  372. 
Bonghi,  Ruggero,  240,  321,  413. 
Boni,  Dr  Costantino,  118. 
Borghese,  Prince,  2. 
Borghesi,  Count  Scipione,  133,  273. 
Borghi,  154. 

Borri,  Cavaliere  Raffaello,  393. 
"  Braccio  di  Ferro,"  28  et  seq. 
Breme,  Marchese  di,  373. 
Brina,  the  model,  92,  94. 
Brucciani,  the  caster,  280. 
Brunellesco,  377. 
Bulletti,  the  wood-carver,  307. 
Bttoncompagni,  273. 
Buti,  Ferdinando  Filippi  di,  374. 
Byron's  "  Cain,"  168. 

Caggiano,  Emanuele,  367. 
Calamatta,  742,  143,  144,  145,  146. 
Camaldoli,  the  Eremp  of,  31. 
Cambi,  Professor  Ulisse,  75,  76,  80,  81, 

83.  97,. 276.  325-     . 
Camermi,  Count  Luigi,  424. 
Camerini,  Duke  Silvestro,  423  et  seq. 
Canini,  a  gilder,  4. 
Canova,  150,  244,  349,  417. 
Capponi,  Marquis,  164,  167,  378,  411. 
Caracci,  the,  377. 
Carnevali,  Clementina,  134. 


454 


INDEX. 


Cartei,  276.  Dupre,  Giovanni,  54,  93,  128,  130,  167, 

Caselli,  Ludovico,  83,  84,  85.  178,  187,  228,  313  et  seq.  passim. 

Cassioli,  190.  Dupre,   Lorenzo  (brother  of  Giovanni 

Castellani  of  Rome,  406.  Dupre),  3,  14,  156,  183  et  seq. 

Cavalieri,  Angelo,  of  Trieste,  141,  ttote.     Dupre,   Lorenzo  (grandfather  of  Gio- 

Ceccon,  Professor  Luigi,  426.  vanni  Dupre),  2. 

Celentano,  364.  Dupre,  Luisina,  189,  209,  350,  370,  388 

Cellini,  Benvenuto,  79.  et  seq.,  412. 

Ceppi,  Professor,  375.  Dupre,  Maddalena,  3,  14. 

Chiarini,  "Baco,"  161,  162  et  seq. 

Chiarini,  Giovanni,  139.  Emmanuel,  King  Victor,  372,  438. 

Ciacchi,  cabinet-maker,  182. 

Ciardi,  Cavaliere  Antonio,  350,  388.  Fabris,  Emilio  de,  26,  347,  431. 

Cimabue.  169.  Fanfani,  Paolo,  100,  182. 

Cipolla,  Professor,  380.  Favard,  Baroness,  50,  436. 

Ciseri,  Antonio,  160,  162,  190,  435.  Fedi,  278,  307,  368. 

Coletti,  physician  and  poet,  161.  Fenzi,  Carlo,  177,  185. 

Constantino,  Grand  Duke,  of  Russia,     Fenzi,  Orazio,  69,  157. 

379.  Fenzi,  Priore  Emanuel,  69,  157,  184. 

Constantine,  Prince,  of  Russia,  153.  Ferrari,  Count  Corbelli,  325. 

Conti,  Augusto,  326,  431,  434.  Filippi  di  Buti,  Ferdinando,  374,  433, 
Coppino,  Professor  Michele,  384.  435. 

Correggio,  377.  Fiorelli,  Commendatore,  368. 

Corsi,  Cardinal,  399  et  seq.  Floridi,  the  draughtsman,  142,  144. 

Corsini,  90.  Folchi,  Ferdinand,  100. 

Corsini,  Amerigo,  198.  Fraccaroli,  Professor  Innocenzi,  374. 

Corsini,  Prince  Andrea,  198,  272.  Franceschi,  Signer,  448. 

Costa,  Pietro,  331.  Francesco,  Prince,  of  Naples,  180. 

Costoli,  Aristodemo,  94,  117,  199.  Franchi,  190. 

Crawford,  Lord,  208,  281.  Fusinato,  161. 

Dall'  Ongaro,  Professor,  320.  Galeotti,  Maria,  408. 

D'Ancona,  Commendatore,  320.  Galeotti,  the  advocate,  140. 

Danielli,  Signor,  433.  Gargiolli,  Girolamo,  139. 

Dante,  141,  377,  409.  Garibaldi,  421. 

David,  the  painter,  245.  Gatti,  Anjiolo,  326. 

Dei,  Professor,  9.  Gatti,  Annibale,  436. 

Delia  Gherardasca,  Lady  Emilia,  157.  Gerini,  Marchese,  177. 

Delia  Porta,  Count  Carlo,  133.  Ghiberti,  15,  377. 

Delia  Robbia,  Luca,  181,  203.  Giganti,  the  water-colourist,  215,  227. 

Del  Monte,  Marchese  Luca  Bourbon,     Giotto,  169,  170. 

338.  Giusti,  the  poet,  139,  140,  141,  167,  292 
Del   Monte,   Marchese  Pompeo   Bour-        et  seq. 

bon,  438.  Giusti,  Ulisse,  100. 

Del  Punta,  Luigi,  205  et  seq.  Gordigiani,  192. 

Del  Toscano,  Marchese,  449  et  seq.  Gori,  Count  Augusto  dei,  133,  257. 

Del  Sarto,  the  engineer,  130,  131.  Gozzini,  Doctor,  49. 
Demidoff,  Princess  Matilde,  148  et  seq.,     Gualterio,  Filippo,  257,  273,  373. 

153,  200.  Guasti,  Cesare,  411. 
Demidoff,  Prince  Anatolio,  148  et  seq.,     Guerrazzi  164,  179. 

193  et  seq.,  313  et  seq.  Guicciardini,  Count  Piero,  307. 

Donatello,  170,  233.  Guillaume,  432. 
Donati,  Professor  G.  B.,  130. 

Doney,  112,  446.  Haynau,  Marshal,  yy^etseq. 
Don  Sebastian,  Prince,  237. 
Dupre,  Amalia,  209,  331  et  seq.,  350,     Ingres,  191. _ 

374,  391.  Isabella,  Princess,  180. 

Dupre,  Atanasio,  30.  Isabella,  Queen,  236. 
Dupre,  Beppina,  209,  334,  350. 

Dupre,  Clementina,  3,  14.  La  Farina,  139,  140,  159. 

Dupre,  Emilia,  209.  Lajatico,  Marquis,  273. 
Dupre,  Francesco,  2,  3  et  seq,,  5  et  seq.,    Lambruschini,  Raffaello,  411. 

25,  32,  323,  324.  Lelli,  the  caster,  100. 


INDEX. 


455 


Leonardo,  170,  191,  377. 

Leopold  II.,  Grand  Duke,  36,  147,  205, 

236. 

Leopold,  King,  276. 
Letizia,  Madame,  150. 
Leuchtenberg,  Prince  of,  in,  112,  175. 
Limberti,  Archbishop  Giovacchino,  394. 
Lippi,  170. 
Liverani,  Tonino,  "Tria,"  186  et  seq., 

371- 

Lombard!,  Victoria,  2. 
Loredan,  228. 
Lucca,  Blosi  di,  192. 
Luigi,  di,  172. 
Luitpoldo,  Prince,  201. 
Lusini,  Giovanni,  89. 

Macartney,  Mrs   Letitia,    126,    127   et 

sey. 

Maccari,  190. 
Maffei,  Andrea,  167,  168. 
Magagnini,  30. 
Magi,  Luigi,  60,  63,  64,  65,  66,  68,  70, 

,  7i,  7,3.  75,  96- 
Magni,  368,  441. 
Majoli,  Luigi,  160,  178,  205,  348,  366, 

note. 

Maldarelli,  364. 
Manara,  167. 
Mancinelli,    Giuseppe,   215,    227,    363, 

364.  37°- 

Manetti,  Antonio,  9. 
Mantegna,  310. 
Manzoni,  167,  377. 
Maranghi,  Gabriello,  323. 
Marchesini,  Signora,  229. 
Maria  Antoinetta,  Grand  Duchess,  36, 

131,  200. 

Maria  Carolina,  Grand  Duchess,  272. 
Maria,  Grand  Duchess,  of  Russia,  in, 

166,  175. 

Mariani,  247,  413. 
Marina.  39  et  seq.,  41,  43,  44,  53,  59, 

60  et  seq.,  63,  65,  77,  106,  no,  156, 

177,  182,  225,  230,  350,  393. 
Manotti,  Lorenzo,  HI,  113,  173,  313. 
Martelli,  Professor  Giuseppe,  69. 
Martellini,  Professor  Gaspero,  20. 
Marrocchetti,  282  et  seq. 
Masacio,  170. 

Mauri,  Senatore  Achilli,  423. 
Mayer,  Enrico,  139. 
Mazzoni,  Stefano,  5. 
Meisonnier,  432. 
Menzicoff,  General,  174. 
Minardi,  246,  247. 
Moise,  Filippo,  139. 
Montalvo,  Ramirez  di,  101,  102,   104, 

105. 

Montanelli,  Professor  Giuseppe,  307. 
Montazio,  139,  140. 
Monteverde,  419,  449,  451. 
Mordini,  Antonio,  159. 


Morelli,  364,  368. 

Morelli,  Domenico,  406. 

Mussini,  Luigi,  190  et  sey  ,   192,  348, 

366,  413,  435. 
Muzzi,  141,  note. 

Napoleon  I.,  31,  99,  112,  142,  297,  318, 

349-  . 
Niccolini,  Giovanni  Battista,  71,   139, 

140,  167. 
Nicholas,  Emperor  of  Russia,  153,  166, 

173  et  seq. 

Nicolaiewna,  Maria,  175. 
Nigra,  the  minister,  153. 
Norfini,  192. 
Nuovo,  Berio,  233. 

Orgagna,  377,  448. 
Orlandim,  F.  S.,  139. 
Orloff,  Count,  174. 
Overbeck,  191,  246,  247. 

Pacetti,  Brothers,  66,  76,  77,  78,  79. 

Pacetti,  Tonino,  76. 

Palizzi,  364,  368,  413. 

Pallavicmj,  Count  Antonio,  409,  429. 

Pampaloni,  Professor,  83,  106,  348. 

Papi,  Professor  Clemente,  131,  160,  261, 
287,  293  et  seq.,  338. 

Parenti,  carpet-manufacturer,  14. 

Patti,  Adelina,  432. 

Pazzi,  Enrico,  160,  178,  205,  348,  411. 

Peruzzi,  Ubaldino,  179,  431. 

Petrai,  Antonio.  101,  112,  129. 

Phidias,  117,  191,  241,  253,  377,  448. 

Piatti,  Giulio,  162,  168. 

Piccolomini,  Signora,  307. 

Pieraccini,  Luigi,  8. 

Pini,  Carlo,  9. 

Pius  IX.,  337,  434,  438  et  seq. 

Poccianti,  Professor,  261. 

Podesta,  the  painter,  299. 

Poggi,  Michele,  100. 

Poggi,  Professor  Commendatore  Giu- 
seppe, 107,  429,  436. 

Poldi,  Marchioness,  of  Milan,  79,  80. 

Pollastrini,  Enrico,  191. 

Poniatowsky,  Prince  Joseph,  324. 

Pradier,  285. 

Prati,  161,  162,  163,  164. 

Puccini,  Cavaliere  Nicolo,  396  et  seq. 

Quieroli,  234. 

Raphael,  170,  191,  240,  302  et  seq.,  309, 

328,  377- 

Rauch,  265  et  seq.,  349  et  seq. 
Regina,  42,  43,  45.  53>  59- 
Renard,  engineer,  177. 
Reni,  Guido,  377. 
Riboisi&re,  Madame  de  la,  285. 
Ricasoli,  Beltino,  411. 
Ricci,  Stefano,  sculptor,  116,  121. 


456 


INDEX. 


Ricciardelli,  30.  Tasso,  the  carver,  78,  79,  80 

Ristori,  Signora,  307  et  seq.  Tasso,  Torquato,  213,  214. 

Rivalta,  Augusto,  345  et  seq.  Tenerani,  143,  246,  370. 

Romoli,  307.  Thorwaldsen,  446. 

Rossini,  1^6,  171,  172,  377,  406.  Thouar,  139,  140. 

Rossini,  Signora  Olimpia,  171.  Tommaseo,  Niccolo,  411. 

Tommasi,  Signer,  of  Leghorn,  153. 

Sabatelli,  Professor,  63,  348.  Travalloni,  the  engraver,  137. 

Sabatelli,   Professor  Giuseppe,  94,  99,  Troubetzkoi,  Princess,  424. 

106. 

Saladini,  36,  37  et  seq.  Uccelli,  Fabio,  307. 

Saltini,  Dr  Giuseppe,  161,  177.  Ussi,  Professor,  406. 

Sanesi,  100.  Uzielli,  Sansone,  of  Leghorn,  201. 
Sani,  Luigi,  20,  62,  77. 

Sani,  Paolo,  2,  8,  13,  16,  19,  35,  68  et  Vannucci,  Atto,  139. 

seq.,  76,  157,  182.  Varesi,  Signora,  172. 

Santarelli,  Professor  Emilio,  94,  106.  Varni,  Professor  Santo,  374. 

Saracini,  Cavaliere  Alessandro,  133.  Vela,  197,  368,  374,  380  et  seq.,  404  et 
Sarrocchi,  Tito,  160,  177,  208,  330,  348,        seq.,  419,  441. 

367.  Venturi,  Luigi,  147,  156,  180,  182,  190, 
Savonarola,    Frate    Girolamo,    410    ct        205,  207,  213,  262,  431. 

seq.  Verdi,  Giuseppe,  166  et  seq,,  171,  202. 

Sclopis,  Count  Federigo,  381.  Vincenzi,  de,  307. 

Selvatico,  Pietro,  258.  Visconti,  190,  365  et  seq. 

Serristori,  Governor  of  Siena,  126.  Vonwiller,  Signer,  368. 

Sferra,  Antonio,  94.  Vulpes,  Professor,  215. 
Sighinolfi,  Cesare,  397  et  seq. 

Sloane,  Cavaliere,  330.  Wagner,  420.    • 

Smargiassi,  Professor,  215  et  seq.,  227.  Wellington,  Duke  of,  275  et  seq. 

Spence,  William,  277,  279,  288.  Wolf,  the  sculptor,  349,  370. 
Strazza,  Giovanni,  367. 

Zannetti,  Professor,  198. 

Talleyrand,  Duke,  424.  Zocchi,  Emilio,  of  Florence,  330,  334. 

Tartaglia,  Professor,  216.  Zotti,  Ignazio,  133  et  seq. 


THE     END. 


PRINTED    1)Y   WILLIAM    HLACKWOOD   AND   SONS. 


J 


23945 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 


JUlWr.9  1987 


INTCRLID 


1987 


a  39 


UCSD  Libr. 


UU  SUUIHkKN  HbljIUNAL  Llbl 


